


Then We Kiss (All I Wanna Do Is Have A Good Time)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, F/M, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Writers' Room AU, basically this is just a long and silly oneshot, but rated mature just to be safe, so there really isn't much to tag, this is just really weird i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry shuffles further into the room, timidly taking a seat on one of the chairs set in front of Louis’ table. He keeps his eyes on the floor, fumbling for words. “Sorry, I’m just—it’s just that I’m a bit nervous. And, uh, I wasn’t really expecting for you to look so—” he cuts himself off, just in time to keep himself from saying <i>beautiful</i>.</p><p>“Young?” Louis guesses, and Harry just nods, going along with it. “Yeah, don’t worry. I get that a lot, mate. People don’t really expect you to be head writer at twenty-nine. They think to get the job you have to be in your forties, or something.”</p><p>So a five-year age gap. Cool.</p><p> </p><p>(harry is a potential new writer for a comedy show. louis is his kind-of boss. they flirt. stuff happens.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then We Kiss (All I Wanna Do Is Have A Good Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balanceds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balanceds/gifts).



> i feel like i should add the prompt here, in the hopes that this monster of a oneshot will make even the tiniest amount of sense: _Writers' Room AU. This is such a weird idea that I don't really know if anyone will want to write it, but I'm kind of envisioning an environment like SNL here in which everyone has to spend a TON of time together and sometimes it gets really crazy (see this video for some of the things they get up to:[video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbEOr5Weqb8)). There's not even a real plot here. I don't know. I just want overly stressed writers having to come up with skits really quickly and being sleep-deprived and just wanting to KISS ALREADY._
> 
> let me say here that this is most definitely not how writing for the comedy industry works, and that i basically made everything up. i'm really sorry. i did some research, yes, but the articles i've read were all very serious, and this oneshot is far from serious. i did my best to stay with the prompt so i hope i'll be okay, though? also, they're not working for snl! let's just say they're working for a show very similar to snl, but set in the uk.
> 
> thank you to my beta for sticking with me through my meltdowns on facebook and for virtually holding my hand when i nearly gave up and deleted the 17k-long first draft. you rock. and to balanceds, i hope you don't hate this too much? you are awesome and i am, frankly, proper terrified.
> 
> title from 'then we kiss' by icona pop.
> 
>  **EDIT** : HI IT ME IT AYA!!! i'll just add my [tumblr](http://black-and-scarlet.tumblr.com/) and [ twitter](https://twitter.com/MarchieTheHare) here :)

**WEEK ONE**

Harry isn’t entirely sure what Perrie means by _dress comfortably, honey!_

He’s been staring at his closet for nearly half an hour now, trying to figure out what to wear for his first day at work, which starts at eight. It is currently a quarter past seven. He should really be getting ready by now, but. He’s not sure what ‘comfortable’ is by Perrie’s standards.

For Harry, dressing comfortably means wearing one of his old band shirts (or a plaid shirt, but Harry prefers wearing those without anything underneath and with at least four buttons undone, and he doesn’t think it’s acceptable to flash his co-workers on his very first day) and ripped skinny jeans. He’s pretty sure those aren’t proper work attire, though, and he wants to make a good impression. This is his first big job, after all, and it’s very important that he gets a permanent position.

He’s spent the last year writing skits for a small comedy group that travels all across the UK. He’s been moving from one place to another nearly month after month, and as exciting as it was seeing new places, Harry thinks it’s time for him to settle down (ideally, settling down means he gets to find a home with someone special, but Harry will have to make do for now—he has to make this job a priority, so his lovelife can wait). So he took a risk—he quit on his old job, found a place in London, and after five agonizing months of sending in portfolio after portfolio of skits he’s mostly written at two in the morning, he’s finally landed a job.

Well, a trial job, to be more specific. It’s not yet permanent, and whether he gets the job officially or not will depend on how well he’ll do for the next month.

So he can’t really be blamed for fussing over what to wear on his first day, okay?

He should probably just text Perrie. After all, she seems nice enough. Harry’s talked to her a couple of times before on the phone, and she’s been sending him these little encouraging texts every now and then. Harry isn’t really sure if it’s in her job description to be this friendly to potential new writers (if Perrie hadn’t told him that she already has a boyfriend Harry would think she’s flirting with him), but he’s thankful, anyway.

He asked her about it once, and she just said, _“Oh dearie, I’m just making sure the newbies won’t get scared off,”_ before giggling down the line and promptly hanging up. Harry still doesn’t know what she means by that. He’s trying not to think about it too much.

He’s trying not to think about it now, too, because he’s still only wearing his pants and the clock is ticking.

With a deep sigh, he just decides to go for something that’s comfortable enough but also looks like he actually has a job. He really doesn’t want to be late. It’s a good thing he still has that baby blue button-up Gemma gave him for his birthday last year. He also owns a pair of dark skinny jeans that, miraculously enough, don’t have holes on the knees, so he tugs those on, too, and just wraps a scarf around his head. There. Comfortable, but also presentable.

He nods at his reflection and mentally gives himself a pat on the back.

-

Perrie greets him the moment he steps into the building.

She’s even friendlier in person, offering him a warm smile and a brief hug instead of the nod and firm handshake Harry was expecting. She’s cute, too, with her long blond hair and lilac-colored dress, and she doesn’t look at all like she belongs in an office. Harry guesses this is what she means by dressing comfortably—you get to dress however you like. She’s even got a flower behind her ear.

“So, you’ll have your own desk in the main working area on the third floor,” Perrie is explaining, leading Harry down a hallway and into a lift. “You’re free to customize it however you want, since we all like to make sure our writers are as comfortable as possible.” She gives Harry a quick smile, before adding under her breath, “It’s the least we can do with how much they have to deal with every single day.”

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, slightly alarmed. Perrie just flashes him another pretty smile before stepping out of the lifts and waving a hand, motioning for Harry to follow her.

“So the first floor is more of a general area. It’s where meetings happen and stuff. Second floor is where we hold the weekly shows, along with the dressing rooms for the actors and guests,” Perrie continues explaining, now leading Harry to his desk. There are other people already working there, around ten of them, and Harry realizes that they really don’t follow a strict dress code—he’s pretty sure that one guy with three cups of coffee on his table is still in his pajamas. “Fourth floor is for the bosses and the head writer, so if you get called up there it can only be either really good news, or really bad. Fifth floor is my favorite, since it’s for social gatherings, which pretty much mean parties. Those rarely happen, though. We’re usually pretty busy.”

They stop by a desk, and Perrie places her hands on the backrest of the spinning chair that comes with it. Harry bites his lip, taking in the almost-bare space and the few things it has—a computer, a small shelf, and a telephone. At least the table is pretty large. And everything looks clean, too.

“So, this will be your working space for the next month,” Perrie says after a while, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. “Hopefully things go well for you and it’ll be your working space for longer than that.”

At that, Harry finally cracks a small smile. He’s feeling pretty nervous, is the thing, but it helps knowing that at least he has friendly co-workers. “Thanks.”

Perrie opens her mouth, looking like she’s about to say more, but then someone’s suddenly shouting from the other end of the room. Harry looks up in alarm, not even noticing that everyone else barely bats an eye at the noise.

“Pezza!” the voice yells, and Harry can hear the Irish accent in it perfectly clear. It’s coming from a blond man in a white tank top, who is now running towards them. “Tell your boyfriend he’s being mean!”

Perrie sighs, says, “Can we not right now, Niall?” before shooting a thumb at Harry.

The blond—Niall, apparently—stops short when his gaze lands on Harry, and a few seconds pass before he’s smiling widely, opening his arms as he approaches. “Heya, mate! You the new kid?”

Usually Harry would protest at being called a kid (he’s twenty-four years old and independent, okay, and the last time he cried about missing his home in Holmes Chapel was a full six months ago, so. No, he’s not a kid) but before he can even get a single word out, he’s being enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. “Mmf.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Niall!”

“Niall, let go of him, he hasn’t even settled down yet!” Perrie protests, and Harry thinks he has a vague idea now about what she meant when she said it’s her job to make sure newbies won’t get scared off. “Let him at least have a day to himself?”

Niall lets go of Harry and pats him on the arm. “I like your headscarf. And your hair. I’m pretty sure Lou would like you, too.”

“Niall,” Perrie sighs, stepping between them. Harry’s a bit thankful for that because he’s kinda confused and overwhelmed right now. “Leave Harry alone for a few seconds, okay? He’s just been here for literally fifteen minutes. We wouldn’t want him running off, now would we?”

Niall just grins goofily in response. He seems like a really happy person, and on any other day Harry would be totally on board with that, but right now he’s still pretty nervous and out of sorts, so.

He clears his throat, making the other two look at him. “Um, could I put my things down now, or…” he trails off, shrugging lamely.

“Oh, of course!” Perrie says, clapping her hands together. “Let me just explain a few more things, then we’ll get you—”

“Pezza, but what about me? Zayn’s being mean again! He told me my skit sucks even though I’ve been working on it all night,” Niall cuts in, whining. “It was _Sunday_! You know I never work on Sundays!”

Perrie looks like she’s about to send him off when a different voice cuts in, “I didn’t say it sucked, I just said you should make it a lot less violent.” Harry looks up at the voice, and his jaw nearly drops to the floor because holy shit. _Holy shit_.

When Harry was still studying in university, he took a course on Greek Art and Philosophy for a semester because it seemed interesting. The person who’s approaching them right now is reminding him of the statues he saw on the PowerPoint slides all those years ago, and well, it’s a bit overwhelming for a first day, really.

Anyway. This is probably Zayn.

“Louis said it was funny,” Niall says, pouting, making Harry blink out of his trance caused by Zayn’s cheekbones.

Zayn rolls his eyes. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a black tee, and he looks like he belongs more in a fashion spread in some editorial magazine rather than in an office full of stressed writers. “Of course Louis would say that—he doesn’t have it in him to break your little heart. But trust me, mate, hitting someone with a bat is not funny.”

Harry’s eyes widen at that, because what the hell. It’s then that Zayn turns to him, extending a hand in greeting. “You must be Harry Styles.”

“Um,” Harry says dumbly, taking Zayn’s hand in his. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m Zayn Malik, assistant head writer,” Zayn introduces himself, tone firm.

Perrie snorts suddenly at that. “Stop being overly formal with him, Zee. You’re gonna make him think you’re someone to be intimidated of.”

Zayn lifts an eyebrow at her. “Oh? And am I not?”

“Please,” Perrie begins, rolling her eyes, “for our last date we went to see _How To Train Your Dragon 2_ and you cried when—”

“No spoilers!” Niall yells at the same time Zayn says defensively, “It was sad, okay?”

Harry just stares at them all with wide eyes.

Perrie notices his expression first, and she shushes Zayn and Niall down. “Um, not right now, lads? It’s Harry’s first day. He’s not even sat down yet.”

“He’ll get used to it,” Niall says, shrugging, before ruffling Zayn’s hair and messing up his quiff.

“Oi!” Zayn protests, swatting at Niall’s hands, but the blond just pokes his tongue out and runs off, cackling madly. Zayn seems to have an internal debate for all of three seconds before he’s running after the blond, yelling at him to get back or else he’ll throw all of his snapbacks into an open flame.

Harry blinks, a bit stunned. This isn’t exactly what he’s had in mind when he first received the call from Perrie three weeks ago, telling him that he’s got the job. But he guesses he’ll just have to get used to it if he wants to settle down.

Perrie pats him on the shoulder in good luck and gives him a quick smile, before she’s heading off to go back to her own work.

-

Harry meets the head writer later in the afternoon, around two hours before he’s supposed to be done for the day.

He gets a call from Perrie, telling him to head to the fourth floor.

“Am I in trouble?” he can’t help but ask, tugging on his lower lip. It’s a nervous habit he’s never been able to get rid of, no matter how many times Gemma slapped him on the hand when they were in their teens whenever he did it.

Perrie laughs on the other end of the line, but Harry can tell that it’s not really at him. It’s warm and a bit comforting, really. Perrie’s been nothing but kind to him throughout the entire day. “No, silly. Louis just wants to meet you.”

“Louis as in Mr. Tomlinson? The head writer?”

“Yes, but don’t call him Mr. Tomlinson, love,” Perrie tuts. “He always tells us off for it, says it makes him feel like an old man.”

Harry chuckles despite himself. He’s a bit nervous still, but he’s been able to calm down significantly since earlier that morning. Niall’s brought him chocolate bars more than once, and he doesn’t question it, just thinks of it as some sort of weird welcoming initiation, or something. Zayn’s even smiled at him once, even though it looks a bit strained still. Harry likes to think it’s because he’s trying to maintain a sense of professionalism instead of him not liking Harry—Harry doesn’t really deal well with people not liking him (he doesn’t like to admit it, but he once cried in his first year of uni when he couldn’t make friends because he was a bit different, coming from a small town unlike most of the other students).

“What should I call him, then?” he asks.

“Louis,” Perrie replies simply. “Everyone’s on a first name basis here, Harry. Except the big bosses, but that’s just natural because unlike the rest of us, they actually _are_ middle-aged men with graying hair.”

Harry lets out a surprised bark of laughter, one he immediately covers up by slapping a hand over his mouth. He looks around him quickly, but no one pays him any mind, too wrapped up in whatever it is they’re writing.

“Don’t tell them I said that,” Perrie warns jokingly, and Harry nods until he remembers Perrie can’t see him.

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He bites his lip for a moment, tapping the fingers of his free hand on top of his desk. “Um, how old is Mr. Tomlin—I mean Louis, uh. How old is he exactly?”

Perrie sounds amused. “You don’t know?”

“Um, no one’s really told me?” he phrases it like a question.

“Huh, didn’t I send you a copy of the file—oh. Oh, no, I forgot to email it,” Perrie mutters something under her breath, and Harry hears her clicking something on her computer for a moment. “There. I guess I forgot to send you the file containing all the staff’s names and stuff, my bad.” She sounds sheepish, and Harry wonders if that’s a bad thing. “Don’t worry about it, though. I just emailed it to you and you can take a look at it tonight.”

“Okay,” he says, slowly. “Um, what should I do now, then?”

“Right,” he hears some papers being shuffled from the other line, before Perrie clears her throat, “Louis is asking for you, so just head up the fourth floor. He’s in his office, surprisingly.”

“And why is it surprising?” Harry asks. He’s new, okay. It’s normal to have a lot of questions.

Fortunately, Perrie is patient. “Well, usually Lou spends more time in the writing room than his actual office, but I guess since you came in today he’d like to look professional, or something,” Perrie explains, and Harry can almost hear her shrug. “But yeah, he’s a dork. We all are, really, so you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Okay then,” Harry says. “But, um—writing room?”

“Yeah, writing room. Did I not tell you about it?”

“Not that I remember, no.”

“Oh.” Perrie’s voice fades for a second, as though she’s talking to someone else, and Harry tugs on his lip again. “Sorry, Jade just passed by, she was asking if I wanted to head out tonight. Anyway! Yes, the writing room. Look at the other end of the floor, do you see a door?”

Harry glances up. “Yeah. I think I saw Zayn and Niall going in and out of it earlier.”

“Yeah, you probably did. That’s the writing room—well, it’s more of a room where the lads hang out in. And by lads I mean Zayn, Niall, and Louis. Sometimes me, too. It’s just small since it used to be a storage room for extra chairs and tables, or something.”

“How did it turn into a writing room, then?” Harry asks, hoping that he’s not annoying Perrie too much with all of his questions. “I mean, isn’t that what our desks are for?”

Perrie just laughs. “I don’t think it’ll be the same if I tell you. Maybe Louis will, we’ll see. But now, you need to go and meet the man yourself! So up you go, hurry now. Just give me a ring after, tell me how it goes.”

“Should I be nervous?” Harry asks, only half-joking.

“Don’t be,” Perrie chides softly. “Niall already loves you, so you’ll be fine.”

“Okay then.”

“Alright. Bye!”

It’s only when Harry puts the phone down does he realize that he never got an answer about Louis’ age. Oh well. Guess he’ll just go and see for himself. Louis’ probably someone in his late twenties, or early thirties. Maybe trying to stay cool even though he’s getting old, with a belly, or a mustache, or something. His name does sound French, though.

He gets on the lift and heads for the fourth floor, before realizing that he didn’t ask Perrie which room is Louis’ office, exactly. He debates going back down to give her a ring, seeing as the fourth floor hallway is empty of any people so he can’t really ask anyone. It kinda feels like a horror movie, really.

He’s about to get back onto the lift when he sees that there are names pinned onto the doors, and he sighs in relief as he goes about looking for Louis’ name. He finds it easily enough, seeing as it’s just three doors down on the right, and he raises a tentative hand, taking in a deep breath before knocking.

“Door’s open,” a voice chimes from inside, and Harry blinks, a bit surprised at the tone. He twists the doorknob and pushes inside, taking in the simple layout of the room—light green walls, a couch, an empty floor-to-ceiling bookshelf—before his eyes land on the man sitting cross-legged on top of the wooden table in the middle of the room.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat a little. “Um.”

The man who is most probably Louis Tomlinson smiles at him, waving a hand for him to step into the room. “Hey, mate! Harry Styles, yeah?”

Harry swallows past the lump in his throat as he sets a foot inside, carefully closing the door behind him. “Uh, yeah.”

Louis smiles just a little wider, and Harry can’t stop himself from staring even if he tried.

It’s just—Louis is nothing like Harry’s imagined. He’s _gorgeous_ , but a different kind of gorgeous from Zayn. He looks more delicate, yet at the same time he looks like there’s so much to him, a big and rough personality hiding beneath his small frame. Harry can feel this crazy energy radiating off of him, like he’s so much more than he appears to be. There’s a softness to his face even though his profile is sharp, and Harry’s not entirely sure how that’s even possible, but.

“You’re staring,” Louis says, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

Blushing, Harry ducks his head and twists his hands together. “I’m sorry, I just—” he cuts himself off when Louis starts laughing, and it’s such a nice sound, high and bright and _alive_.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Louis says once his laughter has died down. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Harry shuffles further into the room, timidly taking a seat on one of the chairs set in front of Louis’ table. He keeps his eyes on the floor, fumbling for words. “Sorry, I’m just—it’s just that I’m a bit nervous. And, uh, I wasn’t really expecting for you to look so—” he cuts himself off, just in time to keep himself from saying _beautiful_.

“Young?” Louis guesses, and Harry just nods, going along with it. “Yeah, don’t worry. I get that a lot, mate, trust me. People don’t really expect you to be head writer at twenty-nine, to be honest. They think to get the job you have to be in your forties, or something.”

So a five-year age gap. Cool.

“So,” Louis says, loudly, and Harry finally looks up at him. This close, he can see that Louis’ eyes are blue. He’s got scruff all over his jaw, too, and his hair’s all messy, fringe falling into his eyes and making him look like a lion. Harry can’t help but think of that one Mumford And Sons song and associate it with the man in front of him. “How was your first day?”

Harry sits up a little straighter at the question. “It was a good first day, sir.”

Louis uncrosses his legs and lets them dangle off the edge of the table. Harry has a bit of a silent meltdown when he sees that Louis’ feet don’t even come close to touching the ground. “Don’t call me sir, Harry. Louis’ fine. We don’t need formalities around here, really—I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

Harry bites back the immediate response that comes to mind and instead says, “If you say so, Louis.” He can’t flirt with the head writer on day one, Christ.

Louis grins. “Great. Now, it’s been a good first day, you say?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, everyone who’s bothered talking to me has been nice.” Louis chuckles at that, but waves a hand at Harry, telling him to carry on speaking. “Everyone looked extremely busy and stressed-out, but Niall kept on giving me chocolates and Perrie called me about three times to see how I was holding up.”

“Ah,” Louis nods, leaning back and supporting his weight with his arms. Harry bites his tongue. “Just wait till Wednesday, everyone gets even busier because we have to finalize the sketches for Saturday night. The actors need to rehearse it for at least two days.”

“Oh?”

Louis nods. “It’s stressful, but fun.” There’s a short pause, in which Louis stares at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression and Harry stares at the lines of Louis’ profile. “I’ve seen your portfolio. You have some pretty good ideas, better than most that have been submitted to us.”

Harry perks up at this. “Really, sir?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Just Louis, Harry. No ‘sir’.”

“Sorry,” Harry mutters sheepishly.

“Ah, you’ll get used to it.” He gives Harry a quick smile. “But yes, your writing’s good, mate. Your sense of humor is—well, it’s a bit different, I guess you can say, but I like it. There were one or two portfolios better than yours, if we base it on technicalities and format, but I eventually decided to let you have the opportunity because your ideas are, hm, how do I put this?” He purses his lips in thought for a moment, before snapping his fingers. “Fresh. Your ideas are fresh, and I could tell you weren’t some jaded man in his forties just by reading them.”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, then, and he tries to muffle it behind his hand. Louis just gives him a smile, and he lowers his hand a little, says, “I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess?”

“It _is_ a compliment, young Harold.” Louis winks. “And you’re cute, too. I like the headscarf.”

Harry feels his face flush at that. “Thank you.”

Louis stares at him for a few seconds longer, before he’s jumping off of the table and wiping his hands down the front of his trousers. “No problem. I can tell that I’m going to enjoy working with you, Harry.”

Harry gets up as well, taking note of the difference in their heights with a small smile. He reaches a hand for Louis to shake, but Louis just pats him on the back and leads him to the door.

“I rarely go up here, honestly,” Louis says, almost absent-mindedly. “I prefer the writing room on the third floor, but since you’re new and all I figured I’d let you see my office.”

Harry manages a chuckle at that. “It’s a nice office,” he says, and Louis shoots him a quick smile.

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then. Do well this next month and I’ll guarantee you a permanent position as a writer for the show,” Louis says, opening the door to his office. “But I know you’ll do well. I have a feeling, and my feelings are right most of the time.”

“I sure hope so,” Harry says, his nerves coming back.

Louis pats him on the back again. “Give me a sample skit by Friday. It’s not going to be on the show, don’t worry about it. I just want to see what you can do on a deadline.”

“Um, okay, sure.”

Louis nods. “You’ll do great, Harry. See you around.”

And then Harry’s stepping out of the office, letting the day sink in. Once he’s got his wits back, he shakes his head and lightly taps himself on the cheeks, thinking, _this is it._

~*~

Niall is spinning around on his chair when Harry gets in the following day.

“Um,” he starts, unsure. He’s got his personal laptop with him today, along with an old journal filled with handwritten notes from the night before. “Hi?”

Niall stops spinning long enough to flash him a wide grin and a ‘hi Hazza!’ that’s far too bright and cheerful for the early hour, and since when did they get on nicknames level, exactly? Harry carefully sets his things down on his desk, not really sure how to tell Niall to leave or maybe get up so that he can take a seat.

That’s when Zayn passes by, holding a steaming cup of what seems to be coffee. He looks a lot different today than he did yesterday, with his droopy eyes and sleep-rumpled hair and wrinkled Marvel tee, but he’s still gorgeous. Harry doesn’t really know how that’s possible.

“Morning,” Zayn says through a yawn, giving both Harry and Niall a tired but soft smile that takes Harry by surprise. Zayn seems to realize about five seconds later who exactly it is he’s greeting because his eyes widen slightly, and then he’s muttering “shit,” before looking down at his clothes in panic.

Niall stops spinning then to snort at Zayn. “Oh, don’t fuss, Zaynie. Harry’s bound to see you in your natural state sooner or later.”

Zayn pouts—actually pouts, god, is this really the same man Harry met yesterday—and reaches out to whack Niall on the head. “I was trying to be professional.”

“Mate, there’s no such thing as ‘professional’ here, you of all people should know that,” Niall says, tipping his head back against the backrest of Harry’s chair and giving Harry an upside down grin. “Zayn’s a nerd, don’t be fooled by his model-worthy looks.”

“Uh, I can see that,” Harry says slowly, staring at Zayn’s tee.

Zayn clutches at the front of his shirt, a bit defensively, when he realizes that Harry’s looking at it. “I like comics. Me and Lou have this thing.”

If Harry didn’t know about Perrie and Zayn, he would’ve thought that meant something else. He’s not really sure why he feels relieved knowing that Zayn and Louis aren’t dating—although he _does_ know, but it’s only his second day so he’s going to keep all thoughts of flirting with the head writer at bay. Still, it’s good to know that he doesn’t have to compete with Zayn if, well. If _ever_. He doesn’t think he’ll stand a chance.

“Comics are pretty neat,” Harry finally settles on saying, shrugging. “Now, um, I guess I’ll get to work?” He’s not entirely sure why he’s phrased it as a question, but Niall’s still sitting on his chair, so.

“Ni, let the man sit,” Zayn huffs, running a hand through his tousled hair a bit self-consciously.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, right. Forgot this isn’t my desk,” Niall chuckles, pushing himself up and waving at the chair with a flourish. Harry smiles a little and sits down, pulling closer to his table and starting his laptop.

“You don’t even have a desk anymore,” Zayn says, making Harry look up as he waits for his laptop to start up. “What are you even doing out here? Don’t you have a skit to finish editing by tomorrow?”

Niall waves a hand, unconcerned. “Nah, man. I’ll work on it later.”

Zayn snorts, bringing his cup to his lips. “Yeah, okay. So I’ll be expecting another sleepover, then?”

“But we just had one last night!” a different voice complains, and Harry jumps in his seat. When he looks up, he sees Louis standing there, wearing a loose tank top and knee-length denim shorts, and _god_ , he has tattoos. He wrinkles his nose in distaste when he looks at Zayn’s cup. “And coffee, Zayn? Really? It’s only Tuesday.”

Zayn shrugs. “Tea’s no longer cutting it. Plus, I had to look over four different portfolios last night—which is supposed to be _your job_ , by the way Lou, where the fuck were you—while Niall whined and played guitar literally all night instead of actually doing work.”

Louis leans down on the edge of Harry’s desk, forearms supporting his weight, and Harry has to stop himself from staring too long at the dip of Louis’ collarbones and the words inked in cursive beneath them. “For your information, Zayn, I was there. Just not all night. I have a life outside of the writing room, you know.”

“Yeah Zayn, Lou came in around three. I think you were asleep, though,” Niall pipes in, taking a seat on the edge of Harry’s desk. None of them seem like they’re leaving anytime soon, and even Zayn’s placed his coffee cup down, crossing his arms against his chest and leaning his hips against Harry’s table.

Harry tries to shrink in on himself, clicking around on his laptop and trying his hardest not to listen in since he’s not really a part of the conversation. It’s hard, though, because they’re literally surrounding him.

“Well no shit I was probably asleep, I had to read through four portfolios—”

“You already said that.”

“—and each one contained around six skits at the very least. I was probably fucking exhausted.”

“Well, as my assistant you have to make sure the portfolios are even worth reading before passing them on to me.”

“No, as your assistant it’s my responsibility to make sure you get shit done.”

“Which I do.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Niall, you’re not helping.”

“So am I gonna have to look through some stuff?”

At that, Zayn sighs, long and exasperated. “No. They were all—how do I put this nicely.”

“Just say they’re rubbish,” Niall says.

“They’re not _exactly_ rubbish,” Zayn says slowly. “They were good, but not good enough to get in.”

“So Harry’s gonna stay permanently, then?” Niall asks, and Harry looks up quickly at the mention of his name. No one’s looking at him, though, the three men around him still talking to each other.

“It’s too early to say that,” Zayn says, sending Harry a quick apologetic look. “I mean it’s just his second day, we haven’t exactly seen what he’s really capable of doing yet. No offense, mate,” he adds, finally looking at Harry and addressing him properly, “your portfolio was brilliant, so we all have high expectations from you, and there’s a really good chance that you’ll get this job permanently if you give us skits like the ones you’ve submitted for application.”

“And,” Louis adds in, grinning at Harry in a way that makes the younger man blush, “since it seems like no one’s going to be accepted for a trial job soon, you even have a higher chance. No competition and all that. Plus we really need new writers. There are thirteen of us right now including Niall, Zayn, and myself, and we’re getting bored sick of each other’s faces.”

It’s then that one of the other writers passes by, overhearing the last part of what Louis is saying—her name’s Jesy, Harry thinks. She brought him tea yesterday. “Yeah, right. You spend nearly all of your time locked up in the writing room with Zayn and Niall, of course you’ll get tired of seeing each other’s faces,” she snorts, before pausing and glancing at them over her shoulder. “Except maybe Zayn’s. No one’s ever going to get tired of that face, honey.”

“He has a girlfriend, Jesy,” Louis chides jokingly, waving a finger at her. “You know, Perrie? Your best friend who works two floors down? And don’t sound so bitter, love, we let you lot into our room all the time.”

Jesy just waves a hand at them and goes back to her desk.

“So, um,” Harry begins, making everyone look at him. “Can I start working now?”

Zayn blinks a couple of times, before realizing what Harry means and pushing himself off of the younger man’s desk. “Oh, yeah, of course. bro.” He grabs his now-cold coffee and gives Harry a smile that’s more relaxed than the ones from yesterday. “We’ll leave you to it. Niall, come with me, let’s finalize that skit of yours. The actors will need it by Thursday for rehearsals.”

Niall salutes and hops off of Harry’s desk, giving the younger man a heavy pat on the back before hurrying after Zayn. Harry sighs to himself a little and clicks back onto the open file in his laptop, transferring the draft he’s typed up from the night before to the computer on his desk. He doesn’t really realize that Louis’ still there until the older man is leaning down, warm breath ghosting over the nape of Harry’s neck and making him shiver, “So that’s the sample skit I asked you to make?”

Harry tries not to blush too much when he feels Louis leaning further down behind him, probably squinting at the Word document on the monitor. “Uh, yeah. Just a draft, though. It’s just about halfway done, but I might be able to finalize it by tonight and send you the sample skit by tomorrow afternoon or Thursday morning.”

Louis doesn’t really say anything in response to that. After a few seconds of silence, with Harry biting on his lower lip nervously, he finally chances a glance behind him and sees that Louis’ giving him an impressed look. “You’re a fast writer, Harry. I’m actually pretty impressed.”

Harry flushes at the compliment, ducking his head and biting back a smile. “Thank you, but you haven’t actually read the content yet. For all we know it could be rubbish.”

“Nah,” Louis says, straightening and patting Harry on the shoulder, “I have a feeling it’s going to be great. Keep it up, yeah?” He gives Harry’s shoulder a squeeze, before he’s pulling back and walking away. Harry tries not to miss his presence too much, but he can’t stop himself from glancing over as Louis heads for the writing room. “And loosen up a bit, Harry! Don’t be too nervous, we’re all friendly around here, if not a little crazy!” he calls once he’s by the door, before giving Harry a silly grin and a thumbs-up.

Harry can’t stop smiling like a schoolgirl with a crush for the rest of the day.

~*~

When Harry gets in on Thursday morning, he sees that everyone is huddled around Josh’s desk. Brows furrowed, he sets his bag down on his chair and absentmindedly picks up the cup of tea that Niall probably left there earlier. It’s already gone cold, but Harry still sips at the liquid as he approaches the others.

He can hear cheering, and then—singing? Yeah, someone’s singing.

He stops behind Jade and his eyes widen slightly when he sees what the commotion is all about. Niall is sitting on top of Josh’s desk strumming on a guitar, while Josh himself is tapping away on a beatbox. Zayn is rapping what Harry recognizes as Ed Sheeran’s _Take It Back_ , and Harry really isn’t sure what’s going on, but.

Zayn actually sounds good, even though his accent’s making some of the words a bit unintelligible, and Harry finds himself nodding along with everyone else even though he’s still slightly confused.

It’s not until the short chorus does Harry notice Louis sitting on the spinning chair, and he nearly drops on the floor when Louis sings the few lines. Zayn picks back up with the rap smoothly, and Harry wonders whether they’ve done this before.

The song finishes with Louis humming the final notes, and everyone bursts into applause. Harry jumps a little, startled, and he catches Louis looking at him with this small smile. Before he can do anything else, like maybe wave or offer a smile back, everyone starts going back to their own writing stations and he gets pushed around a little until he’s the only one left standing there. He’s not really sure why he’s not going back to his own desk like everyone else, but.

Louis’ still looking at him.

“Heya Hazza!” Niall greets, patting him on the back before skipping off to wherever it is he goes to in the mornings. Probably the writing room.

Zayn offers him a quick smile as well before following after Niall, and Harry counts it as progress. Zayn’s gonna have to warm up to him eventually. Well, Harry hopes he will, at least.

Before Harry can dwell further on that, Louis walks up to him and casually throws an arm around his shoulders. He’s shorter than Harry by at least three inches, and it should be a bit ridiculous because he’s pretty sure Louis’ walking on tiptoes, but. Harry kinda really wants to cuddle further into Louis’ side and make himself smaller.

This is a bit ridiculous. He’s known Louis for not even four days.

But like, Louis’ pretty great, to be honest. Harry’s pretty sure everyone who knows Louis for longer than five hours can’t help but be taken by him. He’s just that kind of person. Kinda like Niall, really, since it’s also impossible to not like Niall. He and Louis are pretty similar. They’re both bright like the sun, they both have really nice blue eyes, and they both lighten up the room with their laugh or their smile, but.

Harry’s not really too keen on the idea of waxing poetic about how the blues of Niall’s eyes remind him of a sunlit ocean on a cloudless day. Nope. That’s only for Louis.

Harry shakes his head at that, slightly horrified at his own thoughts.

“You know, that tea’s gone cold,” Louis says, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. Before Harry can react, Louis’ taking the still nearly-full cup of tea from him, taking a taste for himself. He wrinkles his nose and frowns at Harry. “Who made this?”

“Niall,” Harry responds, and he congratulates himself for sounding casual. So Louis’ still got an arm around him, no big deal. Harry has chill. “He’s been making me tea every morning. It’s probably some kind of welcoming, or something.” He only realizes then that Louis’ leading him to the lifts. “Um, where are we going?”

“There’s a tiny kitchen on the second floor. I’ll make you some tea,” Louis says, pulling his arm away and pressing the button on the lift. “You don’t have anything urgent you need to do, right? I mean, I’d know. I’m kinda your boss.”

Harry flushes at the reminder. Right. Louis is head writer. “No, not really. I just need to print out the sample skit you made me do.”

“Ah.” Louis steps into the lift and motions for Harry to follow him. “That can wait later, then.”

They spend the quick ride in silence, Harry fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. He feels a bit overdressed, even though he’s wearing one of his old jeans, but it maybe has something to do with the fact that Louis’ in an oversized jumper that Harry’s pretty sure he saw Zayn wearing yesterday (Harry’s still in that phase of trying to get comfortable enough with his new working environment to dress like he usually does).

“Follow me,” Louis chirps, and Harry stumbles after him. Louis’ got shorter legs but he’s quick to move on them, and the only reason Harry can catch up with him is because he can take longer strides. They’re kinda like opposites, really, and Harry finds himself smiling at that thought. “How do you take your tea?”

“Two sugars.”

Louis frowns, but nods anyway. “I prefer mine with just a dash of milk, to be honest. But if it’s sugar you like, then nothing I can do about that.”

“Why? Don’t you like sweet things?”

“I taste sweet enough on my own, actually,” Louis says, smirking a little, and Harry blushes because it was a fucking honest question, and Louis is apparently a little shit. And then he adds, as casual as ever, “how are you holding up so far?”

Harry decides that he doesn’t want to face Louis yet since he’s pretty sure he’s still blushing, so he leans against the worktop and stares at the wall. He can hear Louis putting the kettle on. “I’m good, so far. I mean, everyone’s been really nice these last few days so it’s not like I’m feeling out of place, or anything. It’s still a lot of getting used to, but.” He shrugs, glances at Louis dumping the cold tea in the sink. “It’s been a good three days.”

Louis hums, taking out two cups and shooting Harry a quick smile. “That’s great, then.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Maybe one of these days I’ll even come to work in my pajamas.”

Louis laughs at that, loud and unguarded, and Harry wants to take his phone out and record the sound so that he can listen to it when he’s feeling sad. But that’s creepy and inappropriate, so he just sticks to memorizing the sound and playing it over and over in his head.

“Are you in here, Lou?”

Harry looks up just as Niall walks into the kitchen. The blond stops by the doorway when he sees them, and he glances between Louis and Harry for a moment, a curious look in his eyes. Harry tries not to fidget too much under Niall’s gaze, and he’s not sure why he’s even blushing because it’s not like Niall walked in on them snogging against the worktop, or anything.

And, well. Harry doesn’t really need that image right now.

“Yeah, m’here, mate. Something up?” Louis asks just as the kettle starts whistling, and the curious look Niall had seconds ago disappears.

“Simon’s asking for the final copies for this week’s skits. Said to have it on his desk by nine today,” the blond informs, before walking over to Harry and clinging to him like a koala. “Hazza, I’m hurt. Was the tea I made not good enough for you?”

Harry flushes and bats Niall away. “It went cold.”

“Oh, okay then.” Niall clings to Louis, instead. “Is there enough for a third cup?”

“No, this is for Harold and me,” Louis says. “Go bother Zayn.”

“He’s with Perrie,” Niall whines. “I feel like he’s cheating on me.”

“Yeah, he probably is. With, you know, his girlfriend.”

“Can I steal Harry, then?”

“No,” Louis says firmly. “I’m making tea for Harold. Go bother someone else. Josh, maybe. I’m sure he’s up for another impromptu performance.”

“What was that, by the way?” Harry asks.

Niall grins, looking eager. “Well we just found out that Ed Sheeran’s gonna be our musical guest for this week, so everyone just started talking about his new album! In the middle of all the excitement someone brought out a guitar and then, well.” He trails off into a shrug, but he’s still grinning.

“You better get used to it, young Harold,” Louis pipes in, pouring water into the cups. “We’re a musical bunch here. One of these days you might even get dragged into a musical number yourself, so always be prepared.”

Harry blinks a few times, before shrugging. “I’m not exactly opposed to that.”

Louis grins at him, approving. Harry smiles back, feeling like he’s just accomplished something, and he doesn’t miss the somewhat knowing look Niall shoots him. He doesn’t comment on it, though, and pretends that he doesn’t notice.

 

**WEEK TWO**

Monday the following week is when Harry finally starts getting used to the environment he’s working in. He comes to work wearing one of his oversized jumpers with a beanie shoved on his head, and no one even looks twice at his attire. Harry thinks this is possibly the best job ever.

“Hazza, my man!” Niall greets him once he reaches his desk. This has become a kind of routine for them, too.

“Good morning to my favorite Irishman,” he says, picking up the cup of tea that’s waiting for him on his desk.

Niall grins at him. “I bet I’m the only Irishman you know.”

Harry takes a sip from his tea and sighs appreciatively. “Niall, even if I did know any other Irish people, I can guarantee that you’d still be my absolute favorite.” He takes another sip from his tea, before setting his laptop and journal down on his desk. “You might just actually be my favorite person ever, really.”

Niall snorts. “Yeah, right. We all know Louis’ on top of your list.”

Harry coughs into his tea at that, caught off-guard. He can feel his face heating up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

In response, Niall just laughs loudly at him, drawing Zayn’s attention. He sends Harry a smile as he approaches, and Harry smiles back even though he can feel the flush still on his face. “Why is Niall laughing at you?”

“He’s denying that he has a thing for Louis,” Niall manages to say in between his laughter, and his face has gone red from too much laughing.

Zayn looks amused. “Really, now?”

“I don’t have a thing for Louis,” Harry mutters, more to himself than to Zayn. He shoves Niall off of his chair and pointedly starts his laptop, says, “Now if you two will excuse me, I have files to transfer and a skit to read through.”

Niall pulls his beanie off of his head and ruffles his hair, cooing, “Aw, is little Harry angry?”

“He’s taller than all of us,” Zayn points out, still sounding amused.

“Yeah, but he’s the youngest, so he’s our baby,” Niall argues.

“I am no one’s baby,” Harry protests, clicking on the mouse of his desk’s computer a bit forcefully. “I am a twenty-four year old independent man and I need no looking after.”

“Oh, but I bet you’d like to be Louis’ baby,” Niall teases.

Harry blushes even more at that, turning to give Niall what he hopes is an intimidating glare. Niall just laughs at him again before ruffling his hair one more time and skipping off. Harry can feel Zayn watching him, so he says, “I don’t have a thing for Louis.”

Zayn just holds his hands up, smirking a little, before he follows after Niall.

-

Louis shows up fifteen minutes before lunch break.

“Hey, Harry,” he greets, giving Harry a thump on the back. “How was your weekend?”

Harry smiles, saving the Word document in his laptop and making a mental note to transfer a copy to his computer later. “Great. I’ve got, like, two drafts of a skit written, but none of them are finished yet. I was thinking about getting Zayn’s opinion on them before completing anything.”

“About that,” Louis begins, taking a seat on the edge of Harry’s table and swinging his legs back and forth. Harry notices that his jeans are rolled up at the ankles and that he’s also not wearing any socks, and Harry is oddly endeared. “I want you to come up with a skit by Thursday morning.”

“Oh?” Harry perks up, shutting his laptop and turning his seat so that he’s facing Louis. “Another sample, then?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, an actual skit that we can use for this week’s show. Your last one was brilliant, mate, and both Zayn and I think you’re ready to write one that we can use. Think you’re up for it?”

Harry can feel his eyes widening, partly in surprise and partly in disbelief. “Um, wow, I—okay, that’s a lot of pressure, but sure! Of course I’m up for it!”

Louis grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. Harry kinda wants to melt in his seat. “Great! You won’t be working alone, of course. Niall will help you.”

Harry nods quickly, eagerly. “Sure, sure, that’d be great! Um, do we start now or?”

“Yeah, you can start after break.” Louis hops off of the desk. He seems to think something through for a second, before he’s waving a hand towards the other end of the room and saying, “Would you mind joining us for lunch?

-

The first thing that comes to mind when Harry steps inside the room is that it’s small. Which makes sense, because Perrie did tell him that it used to be a storage room. But even though it seems like a tight fit, it also gives off a home-y feel. There’s a worn-looking couch on one side of the room, probably big enough for three people to squeeze in. Directly across from it is a small desk with a computer and a printer, the monitor showing Harry a paused YouTube video of what appears to be a compilation of Brendon Urie’s Vines. There’s a DVD player and a few gaming systems connected to the flat screen, and in one corner is a mini-fridge. There are posters on the walls, too, most of them of comics and bands, and Harry can feel himself smiling.

“Have a seat,” Louis says, dropping down on the couch. “The lads should be back with food in a bit. Sorry if the room’s a bit small, Zayn and Niall insisted that we put all this stuff in since we sometimes sleep here.”

“You sleep here?” Harry asks, looking around him. “Like, all three of you?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, chuckling a little. “But only when we’re rushing to finish skits, which happens quite a lot since Niall spends more time playing guitar than actually writing. It usually leads to Zayn lecturing us for hours.” He gives Harry a sheepish smile. “We really aren’t productive, so we stress-write ninety percent of the time. Not really ideal, but we make it work.”

Harry smiles at that. It’s silent for a while, until Niall comes barging into the room carrying plastic bags. Zayn follows in after him, carrying a tray of Starbucks cups and a paper bag. Harry hopes it has sweets.

“I’ve got some biscuits and coffee,” Zayn announces, and Harry does a little cheer. “Pez will be joining us in a moment.”

Niall plops down on the floor and takes a bunch of burgers from inside the plastic bag. “I’ve also got some very unhealthy fastfood with me. Harry, mate, would you like some fries?”

“Nah, I’m cool with biscuits,” Harry says, accepting the paper bag Zayn hands him and shooting Niall a quick smile. “But thanks, mate.”

“More for me, then,” Niall shrugs.

“Hey, I want some fries,” Louis complains, stretching his leg so that he can poke Niall with his toe. Harry only notices then that Louis’ kicked his shoes off and that his feet are bare, and he can see the word _Rogue_ tattooed along his ankle.

Niall flinches away from Louis’ touch and throws a plastic bag at him. “Get your stinky feet away from me!”

“Oh, come on, it doesn’t smell that bad,” Louis protests, trying to aim a kick at Niall.

“Yes it does, Lou,” Zayn says, kicking Louis’ foot away from Niall. “Wear socks, please.”

“Never!” Louis yells like a battle cry, and Harry can’t stop the smile from taking over half of his face even if he tried. There’s just something awfully endearing about Louis Tomlinson, and Harry may be possibly doomed. Right now, though, he can’t bring himself to care because Louis is clinging onto his arm, saying, “You’ll take my side, won’t you, young Harold?”

Harry is a big believer in the importance of socks, he really is, but he finds himself nodding at Louis, anyway. Yep. He’s doomed. “Of course I am, Lou.” The nickname just slips out, and Harry bites down on his tongue, cheeks flushing.

Louis blinks at him for a second or two, before his face is breaking out into a grin and he’s pulling Harry closer to his side. “Ha! I’ve got Harold on my side!”

Niall rolls his eyes and bites into a burger, while Zayn just smiles into his coffee. It’s then that Perrie walks into the room, carrying a bunch of folders with her. “Seven people submitted their portfolios today,” she says, placing the folders on Louis’ lap. “I’ve skimmed over them and found three who look promising—those are the ones on top of the pile.”

Harry can’t help but bite his lip worriedly, warily eyeing the portfolios. “Um, do you get these many applications everyday?”

“Not really,” Perrie answers, taking a seat on the chair by the computer desk. “It’s just usually on Mondays, then we get a few more portfolios on other days of the week.”

“Zayn, take a look at these for me, will you?” Louis asks, handing the folders over to Zayn.

Zayn scoffs. “It’s your job.”

Louis whines—actually whines, Harry isn’t sure why he finds it adorable—and reaches over to shove the folders into Zayn’s chest. “As my assistant I order you to look these over for me.”

Zayn groans but takes the folders, anyway. “And what will _you_ be doing?”

Harry isn’t really expecting the sudden arm that Louis throws around his shoulders, so he jumps in surprise when Louis pulls him closer. “I’m gonna show Harry how we work around here.”

-

It turns out that working inside the writing room is a different experience entirely.

Throughout the entire day, Louis and Niall have done nothing but throw ideas back and forth at each other while the latter scrolls through Tumblr in search of posts about cats. Harry doesn’t really ask why. Meanwhile Zayn dutifully reads through the portfolios, sorting them into two groups after he’s done.

They get zero writing done.

Harry prides himself in being a fast and efficient writer, really, but as the hours tick by he finds himself typing on his laptop less and less, and by the time five o’clock rolls around all he has is two hundred words typed down on a Word document and around a hundred pictures of cats saved into his laptop.

He blames Niall and his Tumblr.

He also blames Louis’ stupidly gorgeous face, because of course Harry keeps on getting distracted by his existence since they’re working in such close quarters.

So all in all, it’s been an unproductive day.

He tells Perrie as much when she stops him on his way out of the building to ask how his day was.

“How do they get things done if they don’t write at all?”

Perrie shrugs, but there’s a small smile on her lips as she shuffles papers on her desk. “No one really knows how, but they manage. I know it takes a lot of getting used to, but.” She trails off, shrugging again, before she sets the papers on a neat pile and finally looks at Harry properly. “Louis always works his magic when under time pressure.”

At the mention of Louis’ name, Harry smiles a little. “Oh?” is all he says.

Perrie nods. “There’s a reason he’s still head writer, even though it seems like all he does is slack off. He gets things done, and he really has a great sense of humor that everyone loves.” She pauses for a moment, looking at Harry curiously. “Say, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up inside the writing room?”

Harry blinks, a little confused at the question. “Um, well, Niall and I were supposed to be working on a skit for this week’s show, so Louis asked me to have lunch with them. And then, I dunno, I guess lunch lasted for the entire afternoon.”

Perrie is still giving him a curious look, and Harry starts to fidget a little. Finally, she says, “You do know Louis doesn’t let just anyone inside that room. It’s, well, it’s mostly a space for him and Zayn and Niall.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, biting his lip for a second. “Is it a good thing or a bad thing that he let me in there, then?”

Perrie breaks into a smile. “Good, definitely good.” She leans forward in her seat a little, like she’s about to share a secret, and Harry finds himself leaning down with his ear turned slightly. “That means Louis likes you, and this job is very well yours,” she whispers, before giggling and sending Harry off.

~*~

Harry’s first sleepover (as Niall’s come to call it, since it’s partly like an actual sleepover even though they’re all fully grown men in their mid-twenties) happens two days later.

His deadline’s tomorrow morning and all he’s managed to accomplish with Niall so far is a very vague outline. It’s currently half past four in the afternoon, and Harry is possibly panicking.

“Niall, we need this skit tomorrow morning,” he hisses as he follows Niall into the writing room.

Niall only waves a hand, unconcerned. “We’ll get it done, don’t sweat about it too much, mate.”

“Niall,” Harry whines, tugging on the blond’s shirt. “I want to get this job, please.”

Niall stops at that, glancing at Harry over his shoulder. The distress must’ve been obvious on his face because Niall actually turns around and gives him a smile. “Aw, Hazza, relax,” he says, pulling Harry into a hug. “You’ll get this job, I am more than a hundred percent sure about it. Louis is already too fond of you to let you go.”

Harry blushes at that, but instead of protesting he just sighs and buries his face into the space between Niall’s neck and shoulder. “But not if I don’t get this assignment done. It’s my first major one, Ni, I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“And you won’t,” Niall insists, patting Harry on the head. “I’ve read your portfolios, too, Haz. I’ve seen what you can do, and you’re brilliant. And besides, you don’t see me panicking, do you?”

Harry murmurs a ‘no,’ keeping his face where it is. He feels a bit like a kid, but Niall is a good hugger so he doesn’t step away from his embrace, even though they’re standing in the middle of the third floor with their co-writers packing up their stuff around them, probably giving them funny looks.

“And I’ve been here for two years, Zayn and Louis five. So don’t fuss too much, yeah? We’ll get it done. We always do,” Niall adds, squeezing his arms around Harry once.

Harry finally lifts his face from the blond’s shoulder. “But it’s already time to head home,” he points out.

At that, Niall grins. “How do you feel about joining us for a sleepover?”

“A sleepover?” Harry’s eyes widen slightly. “Are you sure I’m allowed? I mean, isn’t that your thing with Zayn and Louis?”

Niall just shakes his head, already tugging on Harry’s wrist eagerly. “No, it’s cool, I swear. There’s not really extra pay, but it’ll be fun!”

Harry lets himself be dragged by Niall, but he stops just before the blond can reach for the door. “Wait, I don’t have—I haven’t got anything with me, not a toothbrush or a change of clothes or anything. And my laptop’s on fifteen percent, I don’t have my charger with me.”

Niall just waves away Harry’s concerns. “We have all of that, I swear. We’ve been doing this for over a year now so we’ve learned to be prepared for emergency sleepovers.”

“Emergency sleepovers, yeah right,” Leigh-Anne says from her desk, apparently overhearing their conversation. Harry turns his head towards her and sees that she has an amused smile on her face. “You do this every week, Horan. Nothing is an emergency anymore, this is just routine.”

Niall just playfully sticks his tongue out at her.

Leigh-Anne laughs, shaking her head as she shuts her computer down and puts her things inside her bag. She sends Harry a quick smile, says, “Good luck and welcome to the crew, Styles,” before heading off.

Harry barely has time to process her words— _welcome to the crew, Styles_ —before Niall’s pulling him inside the room and making him sit on the couch. “I’m just gonna go look for Lou and Zayn then I promise we’ll start on that skit.” He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he’s dashing out of the room, and Harry briefly wonders where Niall gets so much energy.

And then it sinks in.

He’s actually doing this. He’s going to be working on an actual skit to be used for the show, not just some samples that would test his capabilities as a comedy writer. He doesn’t really want to get his hopes up too much, but it’s all really starting to feel official. Like he actually has the job permanently. He still hasn’t forgotten about Perrie telling him that this job is very well his, and even Niall believes that he’ll get this job. Zayn’s a little more skeptical, sure, but recently he’s also been very open and welcoming to Harry, like he actually belongs here now, and even Leigh-Anne—who Harry’s only ever spoken to twice—made it sound like he’ll be staying here for good.

Of course, in the end it’s all up to Louis and the bosses to decide, but. Harry has a good feeling.

“Harry?”

Harry jumps at the sudden mention of his name. He looks at the door with wide eyes and sees Louis standing there, carrying a stack of papers in one hand and holding a pot of coffee in the other. His hair’s messy today, his fringe hastily swept back from his forehead as though he couldn’t be bothered to fix it, and he’s wearing an oversized jumper that makes Harry want to cuddle him.

He’s also wearing glasses, and Harry is possibly fucked.

“Um, hi,” he says, finally, getting up and taking the pot of coffee from Louis. He puts it down by the computer desk and adds, “I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

“Loathe it,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose and dropping the papers on the couch. “But it’s Wednesday and we need to have ten five-minute skits ready by tomorrow, so tea’s not going to cut it anymore.” He looks genuinely pained when he adds, “I have no choice.”

Harry laughs at that, and he doesn’t really think it over when he reaches out to ruffle Louis’ hair. He freezes almost immediately when he realizes what he’s doing, and. Okay. Louis’ hair is incredibly soft and Harry is very tempted to thread his fingers through the strands.

Louis is giving him this strange look, and then it’s as if the air suddenly changes inside the room. Slowly, Harry pulls his hand back and clears his throat, cheeks pink. He thinks he must’ve crossed some sort of boundary, so he’s about to stutter out an apology when Louis suddenly digs a finger into his cheek, right where his dimple would be if he smiled. He flushes under the touch.

Louis tilts his head, eyes never leaving Harry’s face. Harry doesn’t really dare to move or speak or even _breathe_ , scared that he might disrupt the small bubble they’ve unexpectedly caught themselves in if he does anything. Louis looks like he’s searching for something, gaze flicking all over Harry’s face, before he’s murmuring, almost to himself, “There’s something about you, Harry Styles.”

Harry manages a nervous chuckle at that. “And what is that, exactly?” He mentally congratulates himself for managing to voice that out.

Louis is silent for a moment, as though he’s thinking it through, and then he’s grinning and patting Harry’s cheek, saying, “I’m not so sure yet, but I’ll tell you when I find out.”

Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when Louis pulls his hand away. He’s not entirely sure what just happened, exactly, but his heart’s racing in his chest and his cheeks are undoubtedly pink right now.

“So,” Louis says casually, as though nothing happened at all, “here are some of the drafts our writers managed to come up with for this week’s show. Wanna help me read through them while Niall and Zayn aren’t here yet?”

Harry just nods, and Louis smiles in a way Harry can’t really explain.

-

“What if we gave the statue a small dick?” Niall asks, and Harry chuckles, shaking his head.

“Okay, then what?”

“Then everyone takes the piss on him since the statue was modeled after him and all,” Niall says, grinning. “I know a lot of penis jokes.”

“Oi,” Zayn says from where he’s reading through soft copies of skits on the computer, glasses also perched on his nose and making him look like some illegally hot English professor, “make sure the jokes aren’t too explicit. Remember, some teenagers watch our shows.”

Niall just snorts and goes back to scribbling notes onto the draft of their skit.

It’s nearing ten in the evening and Harry’s relaxed significantly since earlier. He and Niall are actually making progress now, and he thinks that if they kept at the pace they’re going they’d be done in three more hours, which leaves Zayn and Louis just enough time to look it through.

Presently, Louis is out buying them all very late dinner. Zayn’s taken over the editing while he’s gone, and Harry’s just starting to think that the other writers have been exaggerating when they said this process gets more than a little crazy most of the time because everything seems perfectly fine.

That is, until Louis bursts into the room carrying a six-pack and three boxes of pizza. “Time for a break!” he announces, and Harry can hear Zayn dropping his head against the computer desk with a groan.

Niall jumps up to his feet and exclaims, “Fucking finally!” before he’s taking the beer from Louis and shoving Zayn away from the computer. “Since our musical guest for this week is The 1975, why don’t we blast their album while we relax?”

“Niall, no,” Zayn says tiredly at the same time Harry blurts, “The 1975’s our musical guest this week?”

“Yeah, mate,” Louis answers Harry, dropping the pizza boxes on the floor in the middle of the room and handing Harry a slice. “Did no one tell you?”

Harry absentmindedly accepts the pizza, wide-eyed and five seconds away from a heart attack. “Um, no? But oh my fucking god, _The 1975_? Really?”

Louis gives him an amused look just as Niall pulls up _The City_ on YouTube, reaching for a beer and shaking Zayn from where he’s slumped over the chair. “C’mon, mate! Dance with me!”

“We’ve only finished editing half of the skits,” Zayn protests weakly, but Niall’s already dragging him to his feet and handing him a beer. “Okay, fine, just one song.”

Meanwhile, Harry’s still kinda letting it sink in that The 1975 is guesting on their show. Louis shakes his shoulder. “Eat your pizza, babe.”

That makes Harry blink, a flush suddenly rising to his cheeks. _Babe_. He knows Louis likes calling other people these little terms of endearment, but this is probably the first time he’s ever used one while addressing Harry. So it’s perfectly normal that Harry can only stutter, “Um, yeah, okay.”

Louis gives him a small smile that Harry isn’t entirely sure how to describe. He shoves pizza in his mouth so that he won’t have to say anything else. In the small space between the couch and the computer desk, Niall is spinning Zayn around, totally out of rhythm with the song as Louis watches the pair with this fond look in his eyes. Harry can’t help but smile a little, himself. It’s obvious that Louis really cares about Niall and Zayn, and Harry can’t help but hope that he’ll be able to stick around long enough to experience what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that look.

Zayn’s smiling as well, despite himself, shaking his head as he indulges Niall and dips the blond down, nearly braining him on the floor. Harry pulls his knees up to his chest, feet on the couch, and gets lost in thought for a few moments. His mind must’ve drifted off for a while because when he focuses again, the song playing is now _Sex_ and Niall is shouting about boyfriends and tongue piercings.

That’s when Louis passes him a beer, pressing the cool bottle against the side of his face. He flinches away from the touch, mock-glaring at Louis who chuckles at him. “Beer?”

Harry manages to roll his eyes, accepting the bottle. The cool touch helped in keeping down the flush on his cheeks, and Harry’s thankful for that since it seems like he’s incapable of keeping his chill when it comes to Louis. It’s a bit pathetic, really, but what can you do.

“Thanks,” he mutters, tipping the rim of the bottle against his bottom lip. Louis just ruffles his hair in response, much like Harry did earlier, and the memory of what happened—or, what _didn’t_ happen, more specifically—makes the flush rise back to his cheeks.

Really, no chill at all.

-

They finish editing around four in the morning before falling asleep on the floor.

At least, that’s what Harry thinks happened.

He’s not exactly drunk since he’s really only had one beer and he’s not a lightweight, not by a long shot, but he feels like he _is_ drunk, for some reason. Not exactly in the way that he can’t remember where he is or what happened the night before, but more in the way that he’s giddy and the room feels like it’s spinning and his head feels like it’s floating.

It probably has something to do with the weight on his chest.

Yeah, it’s most probably that.

Glancing down, he sees a head of messy brown hair on his chest, and his heart rate immediately picks up. He tries his hardest to keep still, tries to keep his breathing as even as possible so that he doesn’t wake Louis up and risk the older man feeling the frantic beating of his heart beneath his palm, where it’s resting on Harry’s chest.

Harry tries to think back to how they even got in this position, but his mind is still somewhat sleepy, the only clear thing in his head right now being the feeling of Louis half on top of him. He shuts his eyes for a moment and thinks.

It takes him a few minutes, but eventually the events from a few hours ago come back to him.

He remembers Niall finishing the final draft of their skit for that weekend’s show and Zayn looking through it in a matter of ten minutes, before passing it over for Louis to finalize. He also vaguely remembers the approving smile Louis gave him, but he’s not entirely sure whether that was a thing that actually happened or just the effects of the beer he’s consumed and the general giddiness that came along with finishing an official skit. Everything else after that is a blur of Niall’s laughter and the clacking of keyboards and the whirring sounds of the printing machine, with Matty Healy singing through the speakers in the background.

Now, though, there’s only the sound of soft breaths and unintelligible sleepy murmurs. Everything else is silence.

Harry guesses they’ve been asleep for a while now, he’s not really sure. He tries to look around him, just to see where the others are. The lights are still on in the room and he easily spots Zayn leaning against the wall, fast asleep and head bent at an awkward angle. His back’s surely gonna feel like hell later and Harry winces in sympathy. On the man’s lap is Niall, curled in on himself and snoring, and like this he looks a lot younger than his twenty-six. Harry finds himself smiling fondly at the pair.

That’s when Louis stirs on his chest, hand curling into a fist and bunching up the fabric of Harry’s shirt. Harry’s heart starts pounding again, especially when Louis glances up at him slowly, blue eyes droopy and fringe sticking to his forehead from where his face’s been smushed against Harry’s chest. Harry can’t help the quiet gasp that slips out of his mouth at the sight of Louis like this, looking soft and delicate, all of his brightness and energy tucked away for the time being as sleep clings to his eyes. Slowly, he smiles, all soft and sleepy, and Harry’s breathing stops for a second.

He’s beautiful, is the thing.

“Hey, did I fall asleep on you?” Louis asks in a whisper, voice soft yet raspy, and Harry plays the sound of it over and over in his head.

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat and forces his voice out, “No, it’s okay. I don’t really mind.”

Louis’ smile widens, just a little, but it’s enough for Harry to notice. “You make for a nice pillow. Really warm and solid, but also soft.”

Harry doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to say to that other than a breathy, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, and Harry’s not sure if he’s just imagining it, but Louis’ face seems suddenly closer. “You’re nice, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry croaks, breath hitching in his throat as he realizes that yes, Louis _is_ in fact leaning closer, warm breath just barely brushing over the skin of Harry’s cheek. He shudders.

The hand on his chest tightens into a fist again, and Louis’ eyes flicker over Harry’s face quickly, suddenly more awake as the situation probably sinks in. Harry thinks Louis must’ve been leaning in subconsciously, and he waits with bated breath as Louis watches him for a few seconds longer.

Harry blinks once, and then Louis’ suddenly _right there_ , breath warm and making Harry feel dizzy. They’re so close now, and Harry could just lean in those few inches and brush their mouths together if he wanted to.

And he wants. He definitely wants.

Louis seems to have come to the same conclusion as him, because he tilts his head a little and lets his gaze drop down to Harry’s lips, soft and parted and inviting. And Harry knows—is really fucking _sure_ —that they’re going to kiss right now. His chest flutters a little at the thought.

“Time s’it?”

It feels like someone’s poured a bucket of cold water over the both of them. Harry jumps back at the voice, hitting the back of his head on the floor and groaning in pain. Louis pulls away and disappointment takes his place, settling in Harry’s chest and sitting there heavily.

He can’t believe how fucking cliché this is.

From somewhere to his right, he hears Niall sleepily asking again, voice thick with sleep and making his accent more obvious, “What time s’it?”

Harry knows it’s irrational, but he can’t help the small pang of annoyance that he feels at the interruption. It’s gone in a flash, however, and is instantly replaced by guilt because no one should ever be mad at Niall. _Ever_. It’s practically illegal to resent the blond in any way. Harry mentally gives himself a punch in the face.

He hears some shuffling, but he’s too busy staring at the ceiling contemplating his life to actually see what the others are doing. He thinks he can hear Zayn waking up as well, followed by some groaning and the sound of bones cracking. He winces.

“It’s fucking seven in the morning,” Zayn says a moment later, followed by panicked muttering.

“Oh calm down, I’ve already printed everything,” Louis’ voice comes from somewhere, Harry isn’t sure. He’s still staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah, but you haven’t arranged it yet and it has to be up in Simon’s office in an hour.”

Louis groans, and Harry can’t help but mirror the sound, although silently and more to just himself. “Fine, I’m getting up. Someone give me a folder and some clips.”

There’s movement, and then someone’s standing over Harry and offering him a hand. “Up you go, Hazza darling.”

Harry takes Louis’ hand in his only after a second of hesitation, and he thinks he sees his emotions mirrored in Louis’ face when he pulls him up to his feet.

Harry wonders if that means Louis is a bit disappointed, too.

 

**WEEK THREE**

It doesn’t really get weird, is the thing.

On the contrary, Harry feels like he and Louis only get closer as the days go by.

It’s Tuesday on his third week, and Harry is really starting to feel like he belongs in this job. He’s definitely feeling more and more like an actual, proper writer. He wonders if it’s maybe too soon to start customizing his desk, seeing as he’s still got a week and three days left for assessing, but he feels a bit more confident about this whole thing, now.

His last skit with Niall had been a hit, and now he’s working on one on his own. It’s a pretty big thing, really. So maybe it’s not really too early to be thinking of making his working space his own.

But then again, it’s not like he’s been spending much time working on it recently. Ever since his first sleepover, Harry’s found himself spending more and more time in the writing room than his own desk. It may be a bit counterproductive since he gets easily distracted from his writing by Niall’s antics (and by Louis’ presence and entire existence in general, but no one has to know about that) there, but. He likes it, is the thing.

So on Tuesday, Harry finds himself walking past his desk and straight into the writing room, giving Jesy and Leigh-Anne friendly hello’s as he passes by their tables. Jesy gives him a playful slap on the bum and a cheeky wink in return, while Leigh-Anne shoots him a thumbs-up and a smile. Yeah, Harry definitely feels like he belongs.

He heads straight into the writing room, not bothering to knock unlike the first few times, and finds Perrie lying parallel on the couch with her head on Zayn’s lap. They both look up as he walks in, and he smiles in greeting, tugging a little nervously at the collar of his tee. He’s wearing a band shirt with Bastille’s name printed on the front today paired with skinny jeans that have holes on the knees and a few other places, and he’s got his flower-printed headscarf pulling his hair back away from his face.

Perrie grins, says in a slightly teasing voice, “Well look at who finally decided to loosen up!”

Harry’s cheeks flush a little even as he rolls his eyes and drops down on the chair by the computer. He doesn’t really bother with a response, instead pulls his laptop out and starts it up.

“He’s a really hard worker, this one,” he hears Perrie comment. “Don’t corrupt him too much.”

Zayn snorts in answer. “I’m afraid that’s already been done. Just wait for Niall to get here, he’ll drop his work in a second flat and proceed to talk to Niall about whatever latest cat video it is they found on YouTube.”

“Heyyyy,” Harry protests, frowning at the couple.

Perrie lightly whacks Zayn on the chest, giggling. “Look at what you’ve done. First efficient writer we’ve had in months and you’ve gone ahead and influenced him with your procrastinating ways.”

It’s Zayn’s turn to protest. “Hey, I don’t procrastinate. I think you’re confusing me with either Louis or Niall.”

As though called by Zayn’s voice like some sort of magic, Louis and Niall walk into the room at that very moment. Harry won’t be too surprised if Zayn happens to actually be some sort of god, really.

“I hope you’re not talking shit about me while I’m not here,” Louis says in lieu of a greeting, before adding in a mutter, “again.” And then he’s dropping himself on Harry’s lap without any warning, making the younger man sputter a little in surprise. “Hello, Harold. Whatever it is Zayn and Perrie told you about me, it’s a lie. Don’t listen to them.”

Harry’s brain is still struggling to process the fact that he’s got Louis sitting on his lap to form a proper reply other than a slightly shaky chuckle, but fortunately Niall unknowingly comes to his rescue. “Is that a Bastille shirt, man?”

That, Harry can focus on. “Yeah, it is.”

“Sick, I love Bastille!” Niall says eagerly, plopping on the floor by Harry’s feet without a care. “Lou, why don’t we invite them as a musical guest?”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Louis says, but adds to Harry, “though if Hazza here would like to, I’m sure I can get it arranged.”

Harry faintly hears Niall mutter something about special treatment, but he’s too busy staring at Louis wide-eyed like he’s the second coming of Christ to pay the blond any attention. “You’d—really? You’d do that?”

“Yeah, babe,” Louis agrees easily, Harry flushing helplessly at the endearment (and at the fact that he’s actually got Louis on his lap, thank the heavens, really). “I’ve got some friends in the music industry who can help me get in touch.”

“Wow, that’s. Yeah. That’d be great, Lou,” Harry breathes out, and he’s pretty sure he’s got hearts coming out of his eyes as he stares at Louis. Zayn groaning from the couch confirms this.

“Anything for my favorite writer,” Louis very well coos, and Harry barely manages to hold back a whimper. He really wants to kiss Louis right now, but yeah. Other people. Plus he’s not really sure if this is the right time and all.

He’s not entirely certain when the right time is, but he’s hoping it’ll come soon.

-

“Louis, I only have three lines written down and you told me to finish this skit by tomorrow, I’m not sure if—”

“You can have an extension, love, don’t worry about it,” Louis cuts him off, tossing the camera at him. Harry nearly drops it since he’s not really got the best reflexes, like, ever, but he manages to hold it somehow. He breathes out a sigh of relief after checking that he didn’t break the camera, before he’s glancing up at Louis with an eyebrow raised.

“Um, okay, so what are we doing again?”

“Making a cover of _Kick Ass_ ,” Niall answers, tying a mask around his head. “Okay, well, not really a cover since we’ll basically just be singing along to the audio, but still.” He fixes his cape and runs a hand through his hair once, before shooting Harry a toothy grin.

Harry’s still a little confused. “Okay,” he says slowly, not-so-subtly glancing at Louis shimmying into a pair of tight spandex pants. He nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of the older man’s crotch through the material, but he manages to turn his attention back to Niall. “Why are you dressing up as superheroes, then?”

Niall gives his own bum a smack, looking appreciatively at his reflection in the full-length mirror Perrie’s sneaked into the room. “To get in the mood of the song.”

“Uh. And what is this for, exactly?”

It’s Perrie who answers this time, perched on the edge of the couch as she fixes the strings on the cape of Zayn’s costume. Harry doesn’t even think to question where they got the suits from—he suspects they secretly have a box full of costumes hidden somewhere in the building. It seems like something they would do. “Every now and then they send the girls back home a video of them goofing around,” she starts, brushing off Zayn’s shoulder. “I don’t really remember how it started, but yeah, it’s kinda like tradition.”

“It started with Lou,” Zayn explains, “when he managed to convince Simon to give him this room. He just started dancing around in here to _Toxic_ like a complete idiot, not knowing I was filming everything. Then I sent the video to his sisters, and, well. It kinda became a thing. And somehow we all got dragged into it. We send it to my sisters and Niall’s brother, too, just so they know we’re still holding up somehow.”

Harry smiles at that, and pointedly does not imagine Louis swaying his hips to Britney. Nope. Not even going there.

“Next time you’re gonna be in it with us, mate,” Niall chimes in, bouncing on his feet like a ball of barely-contained energy. “You have relatives who’d love to see you make a complete fool out of yourself, right?”

“A mum and a sister,” Harry admits. He can’t help but feel a clench in his chest at the mention of ‘next time’, like Niall’s really certain that he’ll be here for good. Harry really hopes he’s right. “But, um, since you’ve mentioned it—Louis, how did you get this room, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Louis’ in full costume now, and Harry tries not to just drop on his knees right there because fuck, Louis’ body looks so good. He gives Harry this small smile, like he knows what Harry’s thinking right now, and Harry blushes just a little. “Well, I used to be just a writer here, too, and even back then I wasn’t really, um, the ideal worker, I guess you could say. I tend to put writing off up till the very last minute, and I’ve nearly gotten myself fired a few times, too.” He shrugs. “So one day I was nearly going out of my mind trying to come up with a skit—it was like a final chance for me, or else they’d make me go. I couldn’t write anything, though. It felt like there were too many people around me, and, I dunno. The atmosphere just didn’t feel right.”

Zayn chuckles a little, as though he’s remembering the story himself. Harry spares him a glance before turning his full attention back to Louis, who’s looking at Zayn fondly.

“So anyway, I went into the loo and locked myself in a stall, tried to write there but people kept on coming in. Then I tried looking for rooms on the second floor but they were all locked, and I was already on thin ice as it was so I didn’t even try to break in. Eventually I found the storage, and, well.” He waves his hands around him, gesturing at the room in general. “I managed to finish the skit. And ever since, I wrote here. It took a few months before I convinced Simon to give me the room, but yeah, eventually he gave in.” He smiles. “And look at where we are now.”

“He loves this room more than his own flat, really,” Niall comments.

Harry smiles at that. He’s glad Louis’ shared that with him, and he’s even happier that he’s been allowed in this room in the first place—that he got to see Louis’ most comfortable space and be a part of it. It feels like Something Big.

“Anyway,” Louis says, clapping and getting everyone’s attention once more. “Let’s go get filming. We still have skits to write and my balls are having a hard time breathing in this thing.”

They all laugh, and then Harry’s lifting the camera, making sure to capture Louis first as Perrie plays the music and Mika’s voice rings through the room, singing about how they’re all young and strong and free.

Harry’s pretty happy.

~*~

“Harold, the lads have abandoned me and I’m lonely.”

Harry pauses from where he’s putting his laptop away inside his bag. He’s about to turn around and give Louis a response, but then arms are suddenly wrapping around his waist from behind. Seconds later, Louis is also hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. Harry is pretty positive that the older man is standing on his tip toes right now, and he’s not entirely sure whether he wants to melt into a puddle on the floor or turn around and sweep Louis off of his feet at that.

Since their almost-kiss from the week before, Louis has gotten incredibly touchy. At first Harry thought it was just a Louis thing, since for the three weeks he’s been here he’s seen the way the older man interacts with everyone—he always tends to get a bit physical, always puts a hand on someone’s shoulder or arm while talking to them.

But, yeah. Harry’s the only one who he’s ever sat on the lap of or hugged from behind. Harry hopes that means something.

“What, don’t you have your own Friday night plans?” he asks, voice slightly teasing, and he gives himself a high-five for managing to keep it together even though he can feel the warmth of Louis’ chest pressed against his back. He can’t help his shiver, though, when he feels Louis’ breath brushing across the sensitive skin of his neck.

“I did, but like I said, the lads abandoned me. Zayn’s staying over at Pezza’s and Niall has this date with some Victoria’s Secret model, apparently.”

Harry sputters at that. “Victoria’s Secret model? What the fuck?”

“Niall leads a wild life, Hazza,” Louis says seriously. “He’s got more secrets than the rest of us combined. But anyway, that doesn’t matter right now. Keep me company for a bit?”

Harry thinks about it for a moment. This week’s been a pretty stressful one, and he’d been looking forward to lazing around in his flat for the entire weekend with a tub of ice cream and his collection of rom com DVDs, but.

Louis.

It’s not really that hard of a decision, in the end.

“Yeah, okay. Just let me pack my stuff.”

“You’re my new favorite, Hazza,” Louis says, squeezing his arms around Harry before letting go. Harry tries not to miss his touch too much.

-

It’s safe to say that this is not how Harry thought his day would end, but he’s not really complaining.

He’s sitting beside Louis right on the side of a street, with his journal in his hand and a fruit shake in the other. His stomach is aching a little from laughing too much, but. Louis’ just really wonderful to be with.

“That lady over there,” Louis says, pointing at a woman stepping out of a flower shop.

Harry hums, thinking. “Early thirties, works for a fashion company, maybe.” He pauses, taking in the expensive-looking coat and the beautiful bouquet of flowers, the giant earrings and the sunglasses perched on top of the woman’s head. “Yeah, definitely works for fashion.”

“And the flowers?” Louis asks.

“Maybe it’s for someone important she’s meeting up with, like a business partner. Or maybe she has a girlfriend and it’s their anniversary?”

Louis nods, like he approves, and Harry tries not to preen too much. “You’re pretty good at this, Harry. Definitely more fun than Niall or Zayn. They get bored really easily and drag me off to a pub, which, don’t get me wrong, I love drinking and dancing and just letting go as much as the next guy, but.” He shrugs, and Harry turns his head so he can properly look at the older man.

The sun’s just starting to set, the sky glowing orange and washing Louis’ skin in gold. Harry’s a comedy writer first and foremost, yes, but he’s also spent a good portion of his life writing poetry and even songs at one point, and just. Looking at Louis right now makes him want to go back to that, even for just a moment, because, well.

Louis is really beautiful, and not just on the outside, too.

He’s charming and funny, and his wit is incomparable. Harry is surprised that he can even keep up with Louis’ banter sometimes. He’s also got a soft side, Harry thinks, sees it in the way Louis talks about his friends and family. And he has this certain way of encouraging people around him, and he somehow manages to make working fun for everyone involved. Stressful, yes, but Louis keeps everyone sane somehow with his crazy antics, and Harry’s not sure how that’s even possible but Louis makes it work. And it’s obvious that everyone at work adores him.

Harry can’t help but wonder whether Louis is made of magic. His chest aches thinking about it, but in a good way.

Louis turns his head, then, and Harry really doesn’t have time to look away. This isn’t really the first time Louis’ caught him staring, but this is the first time Harry’s thoughts have gone off in a different tangent, ventured into more serious territory that’s not just about the physical attraction he feels for Louis. He hopes it’s not obvious on his face.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when Louis smiles, small and soft. “But I like this, too. Just sitting and people-watching, making up silly stories about them. It helps in my writing.”

It takes Harry a few seconds to remember what it was they were even talking about in the first place, slightly mesmerized by the way Louis’ eyelashes cast shadows across his cheekbones in the orange light. “Um, that’s nice, really.”

Louis smiles wider. “Yeah. You’re not getting bored, though, right?”

“Not at all,” Harry says, shaking his head. He waves at the journal on his lap, says, “I’m even taking notes. I mean, some of these might spark ideas. For, you know, skits.”

Louis is now grinning. “That’s exactly why I do this! I’m glad you get me, Harry.”

Harry smiles, cheeks flushed, and he doesn’t tell Louis that in between made-up stories of the people passing by, he’s also got small poems written down about oceans and orange sunlight. No, he keeps that part to himself.

 

**WEEK FOUR**

Week four greets Harry with not just one, but two assignments. He accepts it all with a determined nod, thinking that maybe this is a final test, his last chance to prove himself worthy of this job. Not that there’s really any competition right now—Louis’ rejected all of the applications that have been submitted for the last three weeks, saying none of them match up to Harry’s wit and humor.

Harry tries not to show just how pleased he is by that, but judging the smirks that Niall and Perrie (and even Leigh-Anne, Christ, is he really that obvious) keep shooting him, he guesses he’s not very successful at being nonchalant.

Anyway, this is important. Like, really _really_ important.

This can mean settling down, finally (he tries very hard not to imagine himself settling down with someone, specifically a certain someone with bright blue eyes and messy brown hair and arms that can most probably carry Harry around or hold him down or even pin him up against a wall and no, nope, not imagining it). Plus getting this job permanently also means he won’t be leaving Niall or Zayn or Perrie or anyone, really, since in the few weeks that he’s been here he’s managed to become good friends with all three of them, even with his other co-writers (just earlier today he found a red velvet cupcake on his desk with a note attached to it that said, _you’re almost there, h!!! goodluck :) –jade xx_ , and Josh, Liam, and a few of the other lads have stopped by his desk earlier to give him encouraging pats on the back).

And, of course, there’s Louis.

Harry is not going to fuck this up.

He works at his own desk for two days straight, typing down all of the ideas that he can think of, and by Tuesday afternoon all he’s got are sticky notes all over the home screen of his laptop and a frustratingly blank Word document.

The cursor stares back at him, blinking. _Mocking_ him.

Frustrated, he shuts his laptop a bit too roughly and slumps back on his chair, lower lip caught between his teeth. He takes his journal and flips through it to get to a clean page, ignoring his own doodles of Louis’ name with hearts and smiley faces all over the margins (and he pointedly does not look at _Harry Tomlinson_ written on the very center of the page, in his loopy handwriting, because honestly he was half-asleep and low on caffeine when he wrote that so he really can’t be blamed). He takes a pen from his bag and taps the end of it against his chin, thinking.

“Aw, Hazza, what’s the matter?”

He jumps at the sudden voice, spinning around on his chair and staring up at Louis with wide eyes. “Uh.”

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep on frowning like that,” Louis comments. “Something bothering you?”

Harry sighs, unable to conceal how frustrated he’s feeling right now. “Just. Having a bit of trouble, is all.”

Louis sounds a bit disbelieving, but also concerned. “With writing?”

Harry nods. “I have too many ideas and I can’t settle on just two, and, I don’t know.” He shrugs, feeling a bit miserable. “It’s like my mind is running too fast right now, like it’s springing all of these ideas at me and I’m feeling a bit stressed out because I need these done by Thursday morning.”

Louis looks sympathetic as he places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes. Even in his current state, Harry can’t help but feel warmth from where Louis’ touching him. He’s possibly a goner for this man.

“Why don’t you come into the room with me?” Louis suggests. “Take a bit of a break, clear your mind and all. I’ll even help you.”

“I’m on a deadline, though.”

“Aren’t you always?” Louis points out. “And for the last three weeks you always get things done before the deadline. This time won’t be different.” Harry opens his mouth to argue, but Louis shuts him up with a finger pressed against his lips. He flushes, and Louis smiles softly as he says, “Trust me.”

“Are you even allowed to help me?” Harry mutters against Louis’ finger, not even sure if Louis understood.

He did. “Of course I am. I’m head writer, it’s part of my job to help and guide all of the other writers.”

Harry flushes even more at that, but for an entirely different reason. _All of the other writers_. It really does feel like he’s one of them now. “I don’t want to fuck this up,” he admits after a while, when Louis’ pulled his finger away. “I want this job so bad.”

“And it’s very well yours,” Louis says, making Harry pause from where he’s fiddling with his thumbs. “I’m not letting you go, Haz. Ever. You’re too valuable of a writer to just drop like nothing.” Harry’s just about to argue that it’s not all up to Louis, that there’s still Mr. Cowell and Mr. Walsh to decide whether he stays or goes, but then Louis’ adding in a softer voice, “And, you’ve become a really important friend, too. Even more, if I’m going to be honest. I like you, Harry.”

Harry kinda loses his ability to speak for a few seconds at that. He just gapes at Louis, heart suddenly beating frantically in his chest because was that a confession? What?

Louis looks a bit shy, suddenly, something that’s never happened before because Louis is all loud and bright confidence and authority, always sure of himself. Harry can’t believe this. “And, um, I know we haven’t really discussed anything, but. Well, I can feel that you like me, too, and I was waiting till you got the job officially to ask you out, but fuck it. You’ll be here for good, I’m sure of it, and.” He shrugs, giving Harry a small smile. “When Simon does make your position here as writer official, I’d like to celebrate by taking you out to dinner?”

And yeah, fuck, that’s a confession right there.

Harry’s mind is running a mile a minute now, screaming at him, _yes yes yes holy shit yes say yes Louis is asking you out say yes Harry god you idiot why won’t you say something, anything, what the fuck_. “Um,” he says, words failing him at the moment. He waves his hands a bit frantically, eyes widening by the second as Louis’ words sink in, and then he’s blurting out, “Yes, yes, of course, I’d love to go to dinner with you, yeah, fuck.”

Louis laughs, then, high and bright. His eyes crinkle at the corners and Harry feels like melting into hi chair. “Great! That’s great, Haz. Really.” He reaches over and tucks a stray curl behind Harry’s ear, letting his touch linger for a second longer and making Harry’s cheeks pink even more. “Now come on, let me help you write that skit.”

-

It quickly becomes obvious that Louis is serious about, well, _all of this_ because the moment he steps into the writing room, he tells Niall and Zayn to “fuck off if you’re not going to be useful and help young Harold here with finishing his skits by being completely behaved.” He’s even turned down Niall’s offers of music and beer, something that’s never happened in all the previous times he’s spent hanging out and writing with the other lads.

Niall seems to get it, fortunately, because he gives Louis a salute and ducks out of the room, a backpack slung over one of his shoulders. “I’m heading home tonight,” he announces to everyone, before giving Harry a hug and adding, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hazza, and the next day too and the next week and the ten thousand months that’ll follow. You’re stuck with us forever whether you like it or not.”

Harry almost cries at that, but he manages to keep it together. “Thanks, Nialler.”

Zayn heads out next, patting Harry on the back. “Good luck, man. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”

Harry chuckles. “You’re pretty cool yourself.”

Zayn grins. “You’re alright.” And then he’s gone, too, leaving Harry and Louis alone. It’s nearly six in the evening now, and everyone else has already headed home as well. Harry thinks he’ll be staying here for the night again, but it doesn’t really bother him as much anymore.

On the contrary, he’s kinda grown attached to this place.

He blames Louis and Niall and Zayn for making him feel so welcomed. But mostly, he blames Louis.

“Don’t you have a life outside this?” Harry asks, settling down on the couch with his laptop. “Like, I rarely see you leave. Don’t you have a flat or something?”

Louis shrugs, dropping down onto the space beside him. “I do have a flat, but I don’t really go home there that much since I’m practically living here. I have an overnight bag over there, see?”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Harry says. “But like, isn’t it inconvenient though? Or isn’t it a bit of a waste that you’re paying for a flat when you don’t even live there that much?”

Louis shrugs. “It’s a shitty flat and the rent’s small so I’m not really complaining. Plus it’s not like I don’t ever go home—just, you know, I only ever stay here for the night if someone else does. I prefer having company, not really a fan of being alone.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums, fingers hovering over the touchpad of his laptop. “You like it here?”

The answer comes almost immediately. “Yeah. I really do. Working here is nice and the people are also pretty nice. Plus I’ve always been told when I was younger that I wouldn’t achieve anything if all I did was have a laugh, so it feels a bit satisfying to prove all those people wrong by being here—by using the one thing they all thought would be my downfall as my stepping stone. And it’s also nice meeting new people each week, like different artists and celebrities. So yeah, I like it here.”

Harry smiles to himself. “That’s great, Lou.”

Louis chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

“I like it here, too.”

He feels Louis’ fingers brushing over the side of his face next, and when he turns his head he catches the older man giving him a fond look. For a second, Harry wonders whether this is it, whether Louis will lean forward and finally give him a kiss, but then Louis’ pulling his hand away and murmuring, “That’s why we’ll all make sure that you get to stay. Like, literally all of us.”

Harry’s heartbeat calms a little at that, and he turns back to his laptop with flushed cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You’re something else, Harry Styles,” Louis says, sounding like he’s saying it more to himself. “You’re charming and sweet and quirky. So none of us here would be happy if you go.” He chuckles a little. “You grow on people, and I like that. I like you.”

Harry ducks his head, hiding his smile. “It’s mutual.”

-

It’s ten o’clock on Wednesday morning when he wakes up, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him and a draft of his skits saved in his laptop. There’s tea on the computer desk with a note attached to the cup, _go get ‘em_ written in Niall’s handwriting along with a drawing of a thumbs up that Zayn must’ve added.

He smiles, pushing himself up from the couch and reaching for the tea, sipping on the now-cold liquid before pulling his laptop close and starting on editing his drafts.

~*~

He submits his skits on Thursday morning, and he’s a nervous wreck for the entire day. He can’t stop chewing and tugging on his lower lip, his feet twitching and tapping restlessly on the floor.

Even Louis’ reassurances are doing very little to help ease his nerves.

“Hazza,” Louis sighs, tugging Harry’s hand away from his mouth. “Just relax, yeah?”

Harry sighs in frustration, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms against his chest. His knee’s still jumping every time he thinks about how this can very well be his last week here, and his stomach twists unpleasantly. He really doesn’t want to leave.

Louis places a gentle hand on his knee, and Harry’s twitching stops. “I get that you’re nervous, Hazza, but don’t get yourself too worked up, yeah? I read over your skits and they were brilliant, definitely the best I’ve seen from you so far.”

Harry sags back onto the couch and whimpers pathetically. “I want this job, Lou.”

“And you’ll have it, I swear.”

“This can be my last week here. I might—there’s a chance that I might not come back next week and I’ll never see any of you ever again. I don’t know what I’ll do, then.”

“Hush. Don’t forget that I’m also one of the people who get to decide whether you stay. My input is going to be very important since I was actually working with you for the last month,” Louis says, voice soft. It comforts Harry, even just a little. “Plus, I still promised you dinner and god help me, Harry, I am going to take you out for that dinner.”

Harry blushes at the reminder, smiling a little. “Yeah, okay.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, lips pursed in thought. Harry wants to ask what the matter is but before he can, Louis pulls his hand away and snaps his fingers. Harry can imagine a little light bulb going on in his head. “Wait here, yeah? I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you—” Harry doesn’t get to finish because Louis’ already dashed out of the room, but not before placing a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek. Harry stares after him, eyes wide and mouth open. His cheek is flushed and tingling, and he knows it’s cliché, but he can’t help it when he reaches up and touches the spot where Louis’ lips were.

He smiles.

-

“I’ve got cupcakes!” Jade announces as she steps into the room, making Harry jump from where he’s been anxiously playing 2048 on his phone. He blinks at her and watches, wide-eyed, as she sets the box of cupcakes on the computer desk. “Since you told me you liked the cupcake I left you the other day, I thought I’d bring you more.”

“Um, thank you?” it comes out more as a question because, well, Harry’s a bit confused. Jade is sitting on the chair by the computer and looking at him. “Uh…”

“Harry, love, do you prefer beer or something a little fancier?” Jesy suddenly appears by the doorway, carrying a six-pack in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Um,” Harry says again. It’s the only thing he can think of saying right now.

“I got the glasses.” Leigh-Anne appears behind Jesy. “Move, Jesy, don’t block the door.” And then suddenly the rest of the writers are piling into the small room, and just, what. What?

It’s a really tight fit, most of them sitting on the floor while a few hang by the door, looking content with just leaning there. Harry is confused. “Um, what’s going on?”

“Harry, darling, do you prefer romantic comedies or action adventures?” Perrie asks, ignoring his question. She’s holding a bunch of DVDs in her hands, and Zayn says, “I have this feeling that Harry likes a good cry, so.”

“Please, not _Titanic_ again,” Niall groans, already drinking from a beer bottle.

“Hey, is everyone here?”

Harry looks up at the doorway quickly and sees Louis making his way in, carefully stepping over Josh and Liam on the floor. He smiles once he reaches the couch and tugs Harry up, only to sit down himself and pull Harry onto his lap. Harry blushes, a bit flustered, and he glances at Louis over his shoulder to give him a questioning look. “Um, what’s going on, Lou?”

“Well, since you’ve been driving yourself insane I decided to have a little movie night,” Louis explains. “To, you know, take your mind off of things and all that.”

Something in Harry’s chest twists, and he suddenly feels a surge of fondness for Louis. There are a lot of things running through his mind right now, _you didn’t have to_ and _why are you doing this for me_ and _are you real_ , but what comes out of his mouth is, “It’s only four in the afternoon, though.”

Louis lifts an eyebrow, lips quirking up at the corners. “Then what do you want me to call it, a movie afternoon?”

“That’s stupid,” Zayn comments.

“Yeah, that’s why I said movie night,” Louis says.

“Can we just choose a movie now, please?” Jade asks. “Before Niall eats all of the cupcakes I brought for Harry.”

“Hey, I’ve only had two so far!” Niall protests, mouth sounding suspiciously full.

“Yeah and there are just a dozen in this box, Niall.”

Harry can’t help but laugh, then. In the end Perrie puts _Grease_ in the DVD player. They all, expectedly, burst into song, and by the time the closing credits roll Harry is comfortably tucked against Louis’ chest, eyes half-lidded and heart beating a lot more calmly than earlier.

 

**WEEKS FIVE-EIGHT**

Sunday morning comes with a phone call from Perrie, and she’s squealing into his ear even before Harry can get out a ‘hi?’

“You got the job!” she screams down the line, and Harry nearly drops the phone.

“Holy shit.”

“Congratulations! I told you, you had this!”

“Holy shit,” Harry says again.

Perrie laughs. “So, I’ll email you a list of the paperwork you need to submit by Wednesday to make things official, but you’re still expected to show up for work tomorrow and on Tuesday, got it?”

Harry nods frantically until he realizes he’s talking to her on the phone, and that she can’t see him. “Yeah, yeah, of course. That’d be—that’s great! Thank you, Perrie.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, honey. You deserve this, you’re a brilliant writer,” she tells him sincerely, and Harry wants to hug her.

A male voice suddenly interrupts in the background, something that sounds like “put him on speaker” before Harry hears some shuffling. Then Zayn is booming down the line, “Hey man! You did it!”

Harry laughs, already getting a bit teary-eyed. “Yeah, I did.”

“I’m really happy for you, bro. And I’m sure everyone else is.”

“You’re very charming, really,” Perrie chimes in. “Everyone at work is a bit in love with you, Harry.”

“Yeah, but Louis has it the worst,” Zayn adds, chuckling.

Harry flushes. “Shut up, I’m going to hang up on you.”

“Oooh, listen to him! He gets the job and suddenly he’s showing us his true colors,” Perrie teases.

Zayn makes a tsk-ing noise, and Harry can imagine him shaking his head. “After all we’ve done for you, Harry.”

Harry buries his face into his pillows just as Perrie and Zayn start laughing. He hasn’t even gotten out of bed yet and so much has already happened. This is his life now.

He can totally deal with that.

-

He’s greeted by a chorus of “CONGRATUALTIONS!!!” once he steps onto the third floor. Almost immediately he’s surrounded by all ten of his co-writers, enveloping him a group hug. He’s laughing, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as he accepts all of the compliments and congratulations thrown at him, and honestly, this is even better than what he had hoped for when he first accepted the trial job.

Perrie kisses him on the cheek, smudging her dark red lipstick over his skin but neither of them pay it any mind. Zayn gives him a high-five and Niall jumps on his back, nearly causing them to fall flat on the floor since Harry’s got the legs of a newborn giraffe, really. Someone pops a streamer and confetti rains on them, and then Louis is there, standing in front of Harry with a smile bright enough to light up the room.

Harry is definitely a goner.

And so is Louis, if the way he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and spins him around is anything to go by. Harry’s eyes widen and he lets out a surprised bark of laughter when Louis lifts him up, hands gripping onto the older man’s shoulders in support.

Louis sets him back down on his feet a few seconds later, and Harry wraps his arms around the older man’s neck and just. Kisses him.

It seems like he’s caught Louis by surprise because he just stands there, frozen for a second but immediately melting into the kiss the next. Harry makes a pleased noise somewhere in his throat when Louis pulls him in closer by the waist, and he can faintly hear the cheers and whistles of everyone else around them.

He knows they’re going to get teased endlessly by the others later, but right now, Harry really can’t be bothered to care because he’s pretty sure this is the right moment.

Louis’ laughing against his mouth, so Harry guesses he feels the same.

~*~

“I’m not gonna get murdered or anything, right?”

Perrie snorts from somewhere behind him. “Just keep walking forward, Styles.”

“Can’t you give me a clue, at least?”

“Nope. I’m under strict orders, sorry, babe.” She doesn’t really sound sorry at all. In fact, she sounds pretty excited. Harry can hear her muffled giggling—she’s probably got a hand over her mouth. Which is just a bit worrying, seeing as she’s got Harry blindfolded and she’s supposed to be leading him to wherever it is they’re going. “Now, just take another step forward then stop.”

Harry does as told, and he jumps a little when the floor suddenly moves beneath his feet. “Are we on the lift?”

“Hush with the questions.”

“How would I know you’re not leading me out of the building and into the middle of the road where I can get run over?”

Perrie doesn’t answer, and Harry can almost hear her rolling her eyes. He hears the ‘ding’ signaling that they’ve reached their floor, and he lets Perrie lead him, one hand wrapped delicately around his wrist. He tries to listen in for any sound that might give away where he is, but the only thing that reaches his ears is the sound of their feet against the floor.

He gives up trying to figure out where they are just as Perrie stops, and he waits, nerves and anticipation making him bounce anxiously on his feet. He hears a knock, then a soft “door’s open” that sounds oddly familiar, and then he’s being pushed into what he guesses is a room.

Fingers tug on the knot behind his head, and the blindfold falls away.

Harry blinks, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. Then he gasps.

“Hi,” Louis says from where he’s sitting cross-legged on his desk, much like he did the first time they met. Harry only faintly registers the sound of the door closing behind him, because he’s too busy taking in everything inside the room.

There’s a small table set in the middle of the floor, complete with a floral-print tablecloth and two chairs. There are candles all over, too, on the floor and on the desk and one on the table, making the room glow in the soft light. Music is playing from a corner of the room, where Niall’s laptop is plugged into small speakers (the only reason Harry can tell that it’s Niall’s is because of the background, a group selfie he took on Harry’s first official day at work).

“So, like, I know I promised to take you out for dinner,” Louis begins, making Harry’s gaze snap back to him, “and I know that this isn’t exactly out, but. I thought of trying to cook for you instead, so.” He shrugs, hopping down from the desk and slowly approaching Harry. “I looked up a simple recipe online, and I managed to make chicken wrapped in Parma ham. I had Niall test it earlier and since he’s still not calling the hospital, I think it’s safe to eat.”

Harry can’t really find his words right now, so he just settles for wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist once the older man is near enough. Louis clutches back onto him, chuckling a bit nervously into his ear, and Harry manages to whisper, “Didn’t know you were such a sap.”

“Hey,” Louis mock-protests. “Nothing wrong with being romantic.”

Harry pulls away and smiles. “Candles? Really, Lou?”

“Can I just remind you that I’m now officially your sort-of boss,” Louis says, poking Harry in the chest. “So don’t tease me or else I’ll kick you out.”

Harry laughs, squeezing his hands where they’re resting on Louis’ hips. “You’re an idiot.”

They spend the next hour talking in between bites of chicken and sips of wine. It’s a bit silly because they’re both underdressed, Harry in an old oversized jumper with holes in a few odd places and Louis in a footie jersey, and the music’s changed from Ed Sheeran to Lana Del Rey to Beyonce, each song getting more and more sexual.

Louis shakes his head at the opening lines of _Drunk In Love_ , making Harry giggle into his wine. “Remind me to never trust Niall again when it comes to making playlists for dates, yeah? I asked him for something romantic and he gives me sex.”

Harry blushes, but he can’t stop the giggles that come out of his mouth. “To be fair, the first few songs were pretty romantic.”

“It’s like a fucking trap,” Louis grins.

Harry watches the way Louis’ lips stretch, and he can’t stop staring at the wine staining his mouth. He wants to kiss him. “I want to kiss you.”

Louis seems caught off-guard by that, but he recovers quickly enough and gets up, tugging on Harry’s hand. Harry lets himself get pressed against the edge of Louis’ desk, Louis’ thumbs sneaking underneath his jumper and rubbing circles over the skin of his hips. He’s so much bigger than Louis, but like this, with Louis holding him in place, keeping him there with his hands and body, Harry feels like he’s smaller. It’s definitely a feeling he can get used to.

His breath stutters a little when Louis presses their foreheads together, just for a moment, eyelashes fluttering as his gaze flickers all over Harry’s face. “I like you, Harry,” he whispers, voice soft, and it should be funny because Beyonce is still singing about waking up in the kitchen and not knowing how the hell shit happened, yet the way Louis’ looking at him is too intimate for that.

“It’s mutual,” he murmurs back, and then his eyes slip shut as Louis finally closes the gap between them.

Harry’s hands move up to tangle into the strands of hair by the nape of Louis’ neck, and it feels like they’ve maybe been doing this for months instead of just days, when Harry tilts his head this way and Louis that. He can taste the wine on Louis’ lips, knows that he tastes the same, too, and he can’t help the small whimper that leaves his mouth when Louis leans in just that tiny bit more.

Harry moves his free hand behind him, supporting his weight as he leans his upper body back just a little. Louis moves with him easily, and Harry wonders if it’s too soon to wrap his legs around Louis’ middle and pull him in, pull him closer.

They kiss for long minutes, until the taste of wine is gone from their tongues. They kiss until Harry’s lips feel puffy and red, until the playlist ends and bathes the room in silence. They kiss until the candles melt, until all Harry can hear is their breaths and the steady pounding in his chest.

~*~

The next few weeks pass in a blur of stress-writing and impromptu song numbers and kisses sneaked in between coffee breaks and last-minute editing.

Harry isn’t entirely sure how it’s possible, but working as an official writer proves to be even more stressful. Maybe it’s because the expectations are higher, and he gets to work with everyone else now instead of just the lads, but usually by the end of a week Harry is just about ready to pass out anywhere, so long as he can get a good twelve hours of sleep.

But, like. It’s fun, too. Everyone has a different sense of humor and they’re all great to be with. Even though Harry still spends a lot of time in the writing room, he also often finds himself caught in between a circle of stressed writers throwing ideas back and forth at each other in the middle of the third floor. It’s brilliant, finally feeling that he belongs, that he has a place among all of these wonderful people.

Niall is even clingier now that he knows Harry is staying for good, if that’s even possible. Louis often complains that Niall acts as though he’s the one dating Harry, since the blond is usually seen hanging around Harry’s working space if they’re not in the writing room. Even Zayn is open with Harry now, and Harry can’t believe that he’s come this far. Sometimes it feels like it’s just a few days ago when Zayn was acting all cautious around him, but now here he is, bumping fists with the older man as Zayn talks on and on about comics and how he’s considering making one of his own once he’s had enough of the comedy industry. Harry thinks Zayn will be good at that, since he’s seen some of Zayn’s drawings before. He tells Zayn as much and gets a high five.

And then there’s Louis.

It’s a bit surreal to think that he’s only known him for all of a month and counting. It feels like they’ve known each other for longer than that, if the way they match each other’s little quirks and fit together almost effortlessly is anything to go by. And, like, they complement each other, too, Harry thinks. Where he’s a bit physically awkward with his long limbs that he never really got used to, Louis is all confidence barely kept in his small frame.

They’ve been getting to know each other little by little as the weeks pass by, exchanging small bits of information in between cups of tea (Harry now knows that Louis likes his tea with no sugar and just a dash of milk, knows that Louis changes his ringtone every two weeks and that currently, it’s _Bubblegum Bitch_ because “why the hell not, Harold? She’s ace”, knows that Louis skateboards to work sometimes in the rare occasion that he goes home for a night—and in return, Harry lets Louis know that he likes cats, that he used to bake in his spare time, and that he once had a phase where all he could listen to were the most obscure of indie bands). And sometimes, when they’re having a sleepover and everyone else is asleep on the floor, Harry and Louis will whisper to each other, share some of their bigger stories (Harry tells Louis about how he used to be quite the charmer back in Holmes Chapel, and how much he struggled during his first year of uni when he was still new to bigger cities. Louis tells Harry about how his biological dad left him and his mum when he was only ten days old, and how he taught himself to look after his family and half-sisters at a young age).

Harry often finds himself getting lost in the sound of Louis’ voice, soft and quiet and unguarded in the darkness of the small room. He doesn’t just hear it—he feels it, beneath his palm and cheek when he’s resting on the older man’s chest, tastes it when he thinks they’ve shared enough for a night and silences Louis with a kiss. There’s so much more to Louis, Harry realizes, and he hopes he’ll stick long enough to find out more, if not all, that there is.

-

Someone throws a party on the third week since Harry’s position became official. He thinks it’s the girls, but he’s not really sure. The only thing he’s sure of is the sharp taste of alcohol on his tongue and the steady hold of Louis’ hands on his hips, guiding him as they sway in rhythm to the beat of the music.

Niall’s probably in charge of the music since Harry recognizes some of the songs from the playlist the blond’s provided them for their first date. Louis chuckles behind him, and Harry realizes he’s voiced his thoughts out loud.

“Yeah, I reckon, too,” Louis whispers into his ear. “I can actually see him by the DJ table from over here.”

Why do they even have a DJ table, Harry wonders. And then he remembers that yeah, right, they’re on the fifth floor. He’s possibly a bit drunk. Just a bit.

He spins around in Louis’ hold, stumbling a little on his feet. Louis’ face comes into view, amused smile in place, and Harry can feel himself grinning back helplessly like a dork. He was planning on seducing Louis into his office to maybe have sex on top of his desk (Harry’s been thinking about it since their dinner date—well, since he first walked into Louis’ office and saw that the head writer is this insanely fit man in his late twenties, if Harry’s going to be honest. But Louis doesn’t need to know that), but he can’t help the ridiculous smile he can feel splitting his face in half the moment he meets Louis’ crinkly blues. Well, so much for being seductive.

He’s not going to give up on the sex, though.

“Do you think they’d miss us if we popped out for a bit?” he whisper-yells into Louis’ ear.

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up slightly. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Harry doesn’t answer, just tugs on Louis’ hand and waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, making Louis throw his head back in laughter. Even though the music is loud enough to rattle Harry’s brain, he still hears the sound of Louis’ laugh as clear as ever. They giggle at each other as they stumble into the lifts, Harry trying to kiss Louis against the wall as they wait the quick ride down but just ending up stifling his giggles against Louis’ mouth. He’s not so sure why they’re laughing, really, since nothing is really funny right now, but something about this—about holding Louis’ hand and sneaking off into his office, about the bright twinkle in Louis’ eyes that Harry’s pretty sure is reflected in his own—it all sends Harry into a rush, makes him feel light and giddy and happy. He thinks he can float right now, if Louis weren’t holding him.

Harry really doesn’t have time to lock the door behind them before Louis is pushing him over to the desk, and they end up falling over on top of it, legs tangled together. Harry groans and pushes at Louis, getting him to lift off his chest, and Louis makes a silly face at him.

Harry whacks at his chest. “Stop it, Lou. I’m trying to be sexy here.”

Louis laughs. “Sexy? You don’t even need to try, Hazza.”

Harry huffs a laugh of his own and pulls Louis down for a proper kiss. “You’re silly. Why do I even like you?”

“Oh, so I’m the silly one?” Louis protests, poking at Harry’s chest and making the younger man squirm. “You’re pretty silly, too, you know.”

Harry swats Louis’ hands away and giggles, “Fine, fine. We’re both silly. Now kiss me, you fool.”

Louis does just that, swooping down and kissing Harry a bit exaggeratedly. There’s too much tongue and spit, and Harry can tell that Louis’ doing it on purpose so he pushes the older man away and laughs. “What the fuck, Lou.”

Louis is grinning. “That’s what you get for calling me a fool.”

Harry manages to roll his eyes, though he can’t keep the fond smile off of his face. “Are we just going to continue laughing at each other all night or are we going to have desk sex?”

“Who says we can’t do both?” Louis asks, and Christ, why is he still laughing. Why is Harry still laughing?

It’s a lot different than what Harry’s used to. He’s not inexperienced, not by a long shot, and he’s had sex with Louis a total of five times before this one, so. But it’s different right now, somehow. He feels lighter, more carefree. Happier, even. He doesn’t even try to hold in his loud bark of laughter when Louis does this exaggerated striptease, and he certainly doesn’t stop his giggles every time Louis pokes at his ribcage even while he’s got three fingers working deep inside him.

It’s all ridiculous, really. Louis is ridiculous, and Harry finds that he doesn’t mind it. Not at all.

They’re still smiling at each other when Louis slides in, Harry’s eyes fluttering shut for a moment as Louis bottoms out inside of him. He locks his ankles together behind Louis’ thighs, keeping the older man close and pressed deep. He feels Louis press kisses all over his face, soft and light and still with the ghost of a smile, and Harry’s own mouth twitches at the corners.

He lets out a sigh and blinks his eyes open when Louis begins moving, thrusting into him short and quick, and Harry tugs Louis down with arms around his shoulders, wanting to feel him closer. He watches Louis through half-lidded eyes, takes in the way he’s staring back down at Harry, and he’s not sure why but he feels laughter bubbling in his chest, soft and fond.

“Why are you laughing?” Louis asks, hints of laughter in his own voice, and Harry shakes his head because he doesn’t know, either. His laughter cuts off in a moan, however, when Louis changes the angle of his hips and brushes over the spot inside Harry that makes his spine tingle and his toes curl.

It’s Louis’ turn to chuckle this time, keeping the angle of his hips, and Harry can’t stop his eyes from slipping shut as Louis moves faster, gets inside a little deeper. He still feels light, still feels like he could float off of this desk if Louis’ body wasn’t keeping him in place, and it’s good, everything is so good.

He comes when Louis wraps a hand around him, and Louis follows closely behind, soft and tired laughter filling the silence of the room as they lay there for minutes, maybe even hours after, with Harry tracing patterns on the sweaty skin of Louis’ back and Louis peppering kisses all over his bare chest.

“You’re pretty incredible, you know that?” Louis murmurs against his skin, and Harry smiles, soft and sleepy.

“You, too.”

 

**WEEK NINE**

“Hi girls!” Louis exclaims, beaming into the camera he’s holding at arm’s length in front of his face.

“And Greg!” Niall adds from where he’s sitting on the couch, and Harry giggles.

Louis waves a hand carelessly, says, “Yeah, yeah. Greg, too. Hi.”

Harry giggles again at the face Niall makes at Louis. He catches Louis shooting him a fond look, most probably caught by the camera, and he gives the older man a dimply smile in return. Zayn just rolls his eyes at them and Perrie giggles into the back of her hand, hopelessly endeared by Louis and Harry (she once approached Harry with a serious look in her eye and said, “Have you ever heard of ‘shipping’? Because you and Louis are my OTP,” and Harry had been so confused he had to Google it up later. As a result it inspired a skit, and it’d been so successful they all decided to pull Harry out onto the stage by the end of the show, making him do a little bow and a wave. Now he has over a hundred thousand followers on Twitter and nearly ten thousand on Instagram, because not only is he a talented writer, but he’s also incredibly good-looking. He feels a bit like a celebrity, really).

“Okay, so before we get up to our usual antics, I wanted you all to meet someone,” Louis continues saying into the camera, gesturing for Harry to come over. Harry stumbles up onto his feet and plops down beside Louis on the floor, grinning at the camera and waving, a flush high on his cheeks. “Everyone, this is Harry. He’s been working here for a little over two months now and we’ve been dating for half of that time.” He pauses, giving Harry a fond glance. “Okay, so maybe that was only meant for my mum and sisters to know so Zayn and Niall can edit this first bit out if they want.”

“Nah,” Zayn says from the couch, absentmindedly twirling a strand of Perrie’s hair around one of his fingers. “We’ll keep it in, Waliyah’s been asking about the fit new writer we have. Best she knows that he’s taken already.”

Louis mock-gasps at that, before wagging a finger at the screen. “Waliyah, Harry is way too old for you! And he has me already, isn’t that right, Hazza?”

Harry just shrugs and grins a little apologetically at the camera.

It’s then that Niall squeezes in between them, taking the camera from Louis and pointing it at the couple on the couch. “Anyway! Enough of Louis’ face, say hi to the camera you two!”

Zayn and Perrie both wave obligingly.

Louis grabs the camera back from Niall and coughs pointedly. “Anyway,” he begins, aiming the camera at himself again, “Harry will be joining us today for our little presentation, and we’ve even convinced him to send a copy of this to his own mum and sister! So everyone, say hi to Anne and Gemma!” He moves the camera around to capture the others saying hi, and Harry smiles when Louis turns the camera back on himself and adds, “I promise to take good care of your son! Also, I can’t wait till we properly meet. It was lovely speaking to you on the phone the other day, Anne!”

“Why can’t you be this polite on a regular basis?” Zayn wonders out loud from the couch, and Louis shoots him a glare.

Niall uses the distraction to grab the camera from Louis and point it at himself. “Anyway, it’s two in the morning on a Thursday, which explains why we all pretty much look like shit.”

“Language!” Louis mock-chastises. “My younger twin sisters will be watching this!”

Niall ignores him. “We’re supposed to be writing one more skit for this week’s show, but then we went on a break and Louis blasted Icona Pop, which for some reason led to us choreographing a full dance. And now we’re going to show you lot the dance, led by none other than Zayn!”

“I don’t exactly remember agreeing to be in the front of this all,” Zayn protests, but Perrie’s already shoving him up from the couch. “Can’t Pezza lead? She’s actually a dancer, you know.”

Everyone ignores Zayn’s protests, and Harry smiles to himself because this—this is what having a place feels like, what being a part of something is.

He quit his old job in hopes of settling down, and now it’s actually happening. He has even more than he asked for, since on top of the job that he actually likes and pays him good, he also found four best friends and a boyfriend. It’s still probably too early to start talking to Louis about moving in together and really settling down, but Harry knows they’ll get to it one of these days.

Like their first kiss, he’s just waiting for the right time.

He’s ripped from his thoughts by Louis poking him on the nose. “Hey babe, you ready?”

Glancing over Louis’ shoulder, Harry sees that the camera’s been set up on a high chair on one corner of the room. Harry has no idea where the chair even came from, but he’s not gonna question it since this isn’t really the first time an object has appeared inside the room without him noticing. Zayn looks like he’s still trying to talk Niall and Perrie out of putting him in the center, if the distressed look on his face is anything to go by.

“Hazza?”

Harry turns his gaze back to Louis and smiles. “Yeah, I am.”

Louis gives him a fond look. “You’re weird, you know that?”

Harry snorts. “Have you seen all of you? I probably just got influenced by your madness, or something.”

“Can’t deny that,” Louis chirps, smiling quickly, before he’s leaning in and giving Harry a kiss. Harry makes a small noise of surprise in his throat, his eyes slipping shut. He can feel Louis smiling against his lips and he smiles back, endlessly fond.

“Oi, lovebirds, enough of that!” Niall exclaims, making them pull apart. “We’re all set, c’mon! Hurry up before Zayn changes his mind!”

“As if you and Pezza would let him,” Louis snorts, giving Harry one more sweet peck on the mouth before he’s taking his hand and pulling him over to where the others are standing. “Okay, where do we stand?”

Harry can’t stop smiling throughout the entire thing, even when Niall plays the music, even when Zayn moves to the left instead of the right, even when Perrie steals the show halfway through and shoves Zayn aside, breaking out her own moves and basically making the rest of them look like a bunch of idiots. And he especially doesn’t stop smiling when Louis grabs his hand and kisses him, quick and soft on the mouth, just as _“Then we kiss!”_ blasts through the speakers.

All in all, Harry is incredibly glad that he never stopped trying to submit his portfolios all those months ago, because he wouldn’t be here right now if he did. In Louis’ arms, dancing with his best friends instead of actually writing, and getting stressed over a job that he actually enjoys doing.

Yeah. Life’s really good.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it here, congratulations! :)


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